Saviour
by ladylizard424
Summary: Four years together find Alanna Lancaster and Rabastan Lestrange each living a lie. Now Rabastan struggles while his failed gambles threaten to overwhelm him, and Alanna confronts a painful past - and uncovers a dangerous future. Rabastan Lestrange/OC
1. Impressionable

**Saviour, **Chapter 1

_Impressionable_

_Alanna had never really been of the impressionable sort. An obstinately fiery child, she had always insisted on forging her own crude path, separate from the common road. Even during the crucial years of adolescence, when the most resolute of children bend and break, she seemed impermeable as ever to outside influence. She did not conform. She did not change. And because of her peculiar nature, none really knew her. _

_She was unclassifiable by normal standards, and therefore unpredictable. All mistook this for danger; that was the way of young girls. None braved a close friendship with her, lest they find themselves plunged into unfamiliar territory. They did not dare._

_But if anyone had looked closely enough, they would have seen that her psyche swung dangerously to and fro, her heart suspended on a pendulum. She went from extreme to perilous extreme across that arc and never stayed in the same place even as long as she herself deemed necessary. The arc itself, the range in which she wavered back and forth, seemed to grow over time, until it came to a point where she felt that her heart could soar in the sky and crash on the rocks within the same instant. And in her mind there was nobody to command control. So simply she had none._

_As a result, school was a long string of dismal failures. Her concentration splayed about so that others could never depend on her to remember anything. Patience was something that she had never had. And though she was a witch—she had been granted acceptance to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry—she had seemingly no aptitude for anything magical. Her lack of focus made it impossible. _

_In this manner she had spent seventeen long years before coming of age, dissatisfied and restless for want of a goal. She regarded Hogwarts as a general inconvenience, an obstacle which limited her, though she greatly preferred the castle to her summer lodgings: she stayed at an orphanage in stinking, festering Liverpool._

_Nobody knew that she was an orphan. She rarely thought about her parents and spoke of them even less. What was the point? They were gone, and she knew nearly nothing about it. On the books she was a pureblood, simply by the surname they had left her with at the orphanage: Lancaster. The workers at the orphanage told her that her mother had been burdened with a mysterious disorder of the psyche, and that her father had left them both when the woman's behavior became unbearable. Her mother had been found unconscious, sedated with drugs, a few weeks later. _

_Alanna Lancaster had been four. She remembered nothing of her mother, but of her father she knew his laugh. A low chuckling, like a man is prone to uttering when he is amused by his child. But every time she heard a sound remotely like her father's laugh, it sent a searing pain through her heart. That was why she preferred not to remember them. She would much rather keep to the familiarity of her own life than delve into the depths of the pain hidden in her memories._

_Even as she isolated these thoughts within her brain, a flammable temper and unstable mood swings alienated her from the rest of her peers. Girls who were more prone to banding together, who thrived as a group, wanted nothing to do with her eccentricity. In plain defiance, she expressed no interest in ever joining them. And although she later grew into a beauty of peculiar features, with dark hair and light green eyes, she also never expressed an interest in the boys that dared to pursue her. There was a reason there, as well. And his name was Rabastan Lestrange._

* * *

Rabastan Lestrange and his older brother Rodolphus looked to be of the ordinary pureblood sort. They were dark-haired with aristocratic features and a regal air. Both showed the haughty disdain of generations in their manner. Anyone else would say that Rabastan Lestrange was absolutely predictable.

But there was something in his eyes that simply fascinated Alanna. She had never once in her life met another person who seemed to embody the state of her own scattered soul in their own, but in Rabastan's face there lay a dark and incomprehensible chaos that, unknown to others, had been familiar to her for years. It was neither wholly despair nor indecision that created such a feeling, and she had yet to understand it herself. But the darkness and the swinging of their hearts' pendulums connected him to her, and she longed for him to recognize himself in her as she had in him.

After discovering this strange restlessness in another, for the first time in her life, Alanna felt as though she were not whole; it was as though she needed someone else to be complete. She was certain that she and Rabastan were two fragments that would only heal when they were united. And the draw she felt towards him was far less selfish than that of unrequited love; it seemed inevitable to her that they were already bonded by fate.

The interest in life that had dimmed within her during her early years of discontent was to be sparked anew by the discovery of Rabastan Lestrange, but in a different manner. Never again would she assume the carefree happiness of a child, for even when the matter was completely unrelated, her mind automatically deferred to him. She knew that even as her heart's pendulum swung, there was now somebody to command control. Her life had been adamantly fused with his, and bucked and wavered with his every move. It could have been only a product of her psyche's instability, but it could have just as easily been the catalyst that spurred her to new heights.

Alanna Lancaster had never been of the impressionable sort. But when it came to Rabastan, Alanna was as impressionable as she needed to be.

Strong as her feelings were, it took nearly six years for him to deign to glance her way. He was a fleeting sort of partner, jumping from girl to girl and losing interest quickly. It wasn't because he set out to hurt them; quite the opposite, he was often consumed with confused guilt after his latest flight. Alanna, upon examination, could see the visible unquiet in him after these episodes. He simply could not help himself.

Again, this only served to confirm to her that they were one and the same. Rabastan's dating conquests had never hurt Alanna, because she knew and understood that they meant nothing to him.

She could understand, because it was exactly the way she had been with everyone who had ever shown _her_ affection. Once the pendulum began to swing back in the other direction, Alanna was gone to them, maybe for a week, maybe forever. She wandered, dissatisfied, because she knew that there was only one person in the world whose company she needed—and she was impatient to cast aside all else in deference to that bond.

Nobody she knew could tolerate this treatment from her, and Rabastan was the only other who doled it out. It was undeniable that they were meant for each other.

For the first five years at Hogwarts, Alanna had watched him mainly from afar. They belonged to the same House, Slytherin, but he was a year older than her, and became a prefect in his fifth year. Because they virtually never crossed paths, she could only satisfy herself with covert glances while in the Slytherin common room or the Great Hall during meals. She was both desperate and terrified to speak to him, and though the chance never arose, she agonized over it as if it had. What could one say to the man whose fate was irreversibly bound to yours?

From first year through fifth year, the arc of the pendulum swung increasingly wider as her mood began to depend solely on his. With his smile, her heart would soar. She could survive for days on a single glance of his face.

But there were inevitably times when he frowned, and if she caught sight of it, her heart would crash. They were one and the same, so what made him unhappy could surely break her as well. She would lie in bed for days after these episodes, her mind simultaneously empty and racing.

Even so, the strangest, most unpredictable way in which Rabastan affected her was when he laughed. The deep chuckle that sounded from his throat made Alanna want to vomit with grief, for it was identical to the one which haunted her only memory of her family. And yet, because such a horrid sound emitted from a heavenly being, she endured it, and in time even came to treasure it. Like every smile that she had ever spotted on his face, she hoarded his laughs like personal tokens.

Despite her eager affection, she could not say for sure exactly when he had started to notice her. It was sixth year, the abandoned time between the crushing OWL exams and the ominous NEWTs. It seemed that he spent less time studying than he should have, as a seventh year. Instead he consulted his pureblood friends constantly, their conversations hidden in a corner of the common room behind serious expressions. But once in a while he looked up to see her watching them curiously. After several such instances, he began to give her a small smile every time he saw her in passing. It was like they shared a secret, though Alanna really knew nothing.

And after that, their relationship had progressed faster than she had thought possible. He began to catch her nightly in front of the girls' staircase. Propriety thrown aside, he recognized at once the advantage he had over her. Whatever he asked of her, she acquiesced. With each passing day, Alanna surrendered more to him than she had ever known she owned. In less than a fortnight, she had given herself up to him wholly.

At the time she had attributed this new attention to his long-overdue recognition of the bond between them, but in reality it had been something of a mix between an attraction to her beauty and a need to subdue her curiosity for the sake of his friends.

To Alanna, his obscurity seemed to her a small price to pay for his affection, and the following year passed in a blur of rare happiness and content. The pendulum ceased to swing. It seemed that she had been right all along, that only the safety of Rabastan's embrace could bring the peace she had so coveted in her chaotic mind for years. And thankfully, blissfully, when the pendulum ceased to swing, she also ceased to think.

In fact, the one and only thing Alanna could recall from those days with absolute clarity was the day he finally admitted what he and his friends had been up to.

He was eighteen, graduated and long-gone from Hogwarts. Alanna suffered through only a month of school without him before, caught in a raging need, she stole a broomstick from the Quidditch stores and disappeared for good. The Headmaster, knowing her orphan state and also her relationship with the younger Lestrange brother, regretfully sent her belongings to Rabastan's house when it appeared that Alanna was never going to return.

When these packages arrived at his door, Rabastan knew with some chagrin that Alanna intended to stay with him permanently, and resolved to truly confide in her. Not because he wanted her to know, but because it was the easiest way: it would be too difficult to lie to her when she lived under the same roof. And by then he had figured out her dependence on him as well. He knew she would possibly die before betraying him.

"Rodolphus and I are part of a, erm, secret society," he had begun. "It is headed by an old graduate of Hogwarts by the name of Tom Riddle."

"Oh, is he an Auror? An Unspeakable?" Alanna asked.

Rabastan looked uncomfortable. "No, he isn't. He's an innovative wizard with some—er—ideas for social reform. It involves…purifying the Wizarding race to raise our potential for achieving greatness."

"It sounds wonderful," Alanna pronounced, and there had been no further questions asked. It came as no surprise to her that such underground anti-Ministry policy organizations existed. After all, it was the 70s, a time of radical social upheaval and the rise of the most opinionated young generation ever raised by the Wizarding world. Even when Rabastan was on a task for his association and came home late, or did not come home to spend the night at all, she overlooked it without suspicion. She had spent the last seventeen years of her life alone and eternally waiting for Rabastan, so this was no different.

There was nothing much in that quiet house to do. When Rabastan was gone, nobody came and went, and the pendulum swung a wider arc than ever. Alanna woke up every morning full of hope, and every night returned to an empty bed in a fit of despair. Some days she neglected to get out of bed at all.

There were times when she regretted ever leaving Hogwarts. Sometime between their permanent establishment as a couple and Rabastan's increasing involvement with his organization, Alanna realized that she had hemmed herself in completely. Without a complete education, she had no aspirations for the future, save to one day hold the title of Mrs. Rabastan Lestrange. But even as this realization cast a hopeless pallor on her lonely days, Alanna knew without a doubt that she could not bear to leave. Without him, she was broken and confused. With him, the pendulum ceased to swing.

She had taken to listening to the wireless in the sitting room, sometimes laughing, sometimes weeping, and mostly painfully indifferent. It was on those days that the pendulum had halted momentarily of its own accord in a middle zone, and she could bring herself to care about nothing, because the man who completed her was not there. But every time he entered the door, weary but exhilarated, unfailingly Alanna would leap up from her seat and fling her arms around his neck in an embrace that made up for all she had felt in his absence.

It was a cycle, an unstoppable continuity in which both of them seemed unsatisfied, but also unwilling to contribute more. Alanna was afraid that any stress, a single shift, would fracture their delicate balance and Rabastan would be gone to her forever.

Rabastan only feared that if he dismissed her, and hurt her enough, she would go to the Ministry about his underground society. And he would then be finished.

In all truth, he felt a certain endearment towards the woman who looked to him with such unyielding adoration. He didn't wish to hurt her; she was like a relic that held no real interest, but which he could not yet afford to throw away. She kept his household and left him free to pursue other interests. Therefore, it was to his advantage to reserve a small part of his love for her.

And so in this way these two lived for long years. It was neither a miserable nor happy existence, but they could not hope to expect anything more from one another.

**A/N: Hey guys, I decided to post this story here as well as HPFF. Please let me know if you like this or not! All feedback is appreciated.**


	2. Homecoming

**Saviour, Chapter 2**

_Homecoming_

The window was open. Even over the sound of the afternoon program playing on the wireless, she could hear the sharp sound outside, a crack of displaced air. It was altogether too familiar to startle her, though her heart still gave the customary little leap and her stomach wrenched in excitement. She jumped up from her seat and straightened the wrinkles from her skirt. Running her fingers through her hair to neaten the mess, she looked eagerly to the hall.

The heavy front door creaked open on its hinges loudly. "Alanna?" His voice floated uncertainly through the hallway and up the staircase. "Are you home, love?"

Was she home? He didn't even need to ask it, yet he did every time. Had she ever _not_ been home when he arrived? Some would call it a woman's intuition to recognize exactly when her man would return to her, but secretly Alanna knew that with her it was no coincidence. The truth was that she rarely ever left the house in fear that she would not be home the moment he arrived.

"Alanna!" he called again.

Her instinct urged her to call back to him immediately, to reassure Rabastan of her presence, of her love. She imagined that he felt tired and lonely, and did not want him to come home to an empty house for the first time since she had moved in. It was now habitual, part of a routine, for her to greet him eagerly as he returned.

But even as she touched up her appearance in the mirror and fidgeted with trinkets around the room, she forced herself to repress that habitual instinct and keep quiet, only for the moment. Across the house, she could hear the sound of his footsteps.

This time Rabastan had been gone for nearly a fortnight, and despite the many owls that she had sent, imploring him to reply and tell her when he would be home, the birds had always come back empty-handed. Sometimes they had returned with singed feathers. He had never been gone this long, nor had he ever denied her correspondence. And most importantly, he had left her no definite hope of a day when he would return to her. She had almost despaired that this was the time when he would leave forever.

Now that he was back, Alanna felt herself justified to ignore him as well. It was a game she had imagined, a petty establishment of the weak malice that she was harboring inside of her. The small, cold knot of anger that had developed over the last two weeks singed her insides like the feathers of her rejected owls. It was a matter of principle, that he could not take her for granted—that he could not leave and then return as he wished, and expect her warm welcome.

The plan was such: let her keep quiet for but a moment and establish in him the fear that she had left him while he was wandering the world on duty. Let him miss her for but that moment as she had missed him for years. It was small retribution, but it was enough to content her.

She had been devising it—running the scene over in her mind's eye—for day upon empty day. And there was only one way in which she was satisfied it would end.

"I'm here, dear," she finally called when she could bear it no more. She grabbed a magazine and settled herself nonchalantly back on the couch. Despite her efforts to appear comfortable, nobody ever sat in the sitting room and the furniture felt quite stiff and unused. It was a pretense that felt awkward.

The malice hadn't quite drained away; she wasn't satisfied that she had made him suffer enough. She composed her features into a vaguely cold and distant expression as she gazed uninterestedly at the magazine, because today she wouldn't have him see the customary flutter of her heart as she thought of his embrace.

It was a strange game, even to her. She felt with frustration that it seemed that perhaps the less Rabastan thought she loved him, the more he would love her.

"Alanna." His form appeared in the doorway. Still she refused to look up. Undeterred by her indifference, slowly he made his way across the room to stop in front of her and slide his hand underneath her jaw.

The words on the magazine began to slide in and out of focus as the weak malice deteriorated in her mind. She could feel the swing of her psyche already beginning to cease, her anger losing momentum and her resolve slipping with every passing moment that she released control.

She stood, half unwilling, her legs trembling. She knew that it was too late to bring it back now. He held out his arms, and he didn't even have to touch her again before she melted into his hold completely. The self-righteous anger was gone, whether she wanted it to be so or not. There was nothing she could do about it. Truthfully, she had never been in control of her mind and heart; try as she might, she could never maintain anger against Rabastan for long. She had only thought that after so many replays in her mind's eye, today's situation would be different. Tears of frustration began to flow from her eyes as she saw her satisfaction disappear.

Rabastan stroked her back, the large warmth of his hand running up and down her spine. "Don't cry, love," he whispered, and kissed the top of her head. "I'm home now."

Alanna sniffed, internally furious with herself. She had vowed to make him pay, to no avail. It was almost as if he knew about the effect that his mere presence exerted on her. He had cracked her resolve today as easily as he always had, and now even her anger towards herself was beginning to slip away. It seemed insignificant in the face of the reunion of their fragmented souls.

"It was so long this time," she said tearfully. "You didn't even owl me with when you would be home."

"It was a big project, love," he said in the indifferent tone he adopted whenever he spoke of his work affairs with the anti-Ministry organization. He released her, and immediately a frigid cold began to envelop her body. She wrapped her own arms around herself to fight the cold, but the sensation of safety had gone.

"Come sit down next to me," she whispered, tugging on his arm.

He smiled wanly. "I would, but I'm starving. I'm going to see what there is to eat in the kitchen to tide me over until supper." He turned away, and she stood there, watching as he started towards the door. She watched until she could no longer bear it.

"Rabastan!" she cried out.

He spun around to face her, eyebrows raised, and watched as she shivered in silence. Then he turned around and left the room.

* * *

They were sitting down to supper together for the first time in two weeks. As the house elves hovered around their small corner of the long table, delivering dishes of food, Alanna tried to curb the anger that was still simmering inside of her, burning her throat. Rabastan was paying more attention to his meal than he was to her, despite their separation of the last fortnight. It was like he hadn't eaten in days, the way he considered the food in front of him with such distracted fascination.

"Do they not feed you when you're away at work?" she asked flippantly, a small snarl in her voice. "Shouldn't you have a workers' union for that sort of thing?"

Rabastan, who had until now been staring hollowly at his plate, suddenly raised his head to fix her with a steely glare. "You shouldn't talk with such arrogance about things you don't know," he said. Alanna noticed for the first time that his voice seemed hoarse and raspy, like he had been shouting too much recently. His dark hair was covered with a thin film of powder that appeared to be dust. "I'm just tired, that's all. My job is very strenuous, in case you were mistaken about it."

"I—I never said—" Alanna protested, all of her anger draining away instantly. She hoped that he didn't think she was intruding on his privacy. She had only meant that she wished Rabastan would talk to her—give her some indication that he still loved her, and that he was glad to be home.

She felt an uneasiness begin to rise in her at his distracted behavior, but she forced herself from falling into despair so soon. Perhaps she just needed to try a different approach.

Rabastan had returned to his dinner again. Alanna ran a hand through her hair to make sure it was in order and then donned a sweet smile. She laid a gentle hand on his arm, and he looked up, neither interested nor impatient. In fact, his eyes were dazed and took a moment to clear, like Alanna had pulled him out of a dream.

"An owl from the Zabinis came for you the day before yesterday," she said kindly, in the way she imagined a well-bred and caring wife—the type of wife Rabastan did covet—would.

He frowned slightly. "Did you open it?" he asked, his eyes flickering with something akin to alarm.

She blinked, trying to discern it. "No," she said slowly. Her smile did not waver, but a small wrinkle of consternation appeared between her eyebrows as she watched the last of the mist clear from his eyes. "I never open your mail. You should know that, dear."

Rabastan grinned somewhat crookedly, letting out his breath in a loud and exaggerated huff. "I'm sorry, love, I shouldn't have asked that. I just wondered if it was about business." He covered her cold hand with his warm one. "I wouldn't want you to get tangled in that sort of stuff."

Alanna smiled back, a great weight lifting off of her chest. "Actually, I don't mind hearing about your adventures at all. I've rarely seen you in the last few months. What _have_ you been up to lately?"

There was a sudden silence as the house elves ceased to mill about them, and the dining room in which they sat grew empty and hollow of movement. Rabastan slid his hand out from underneath hers and turned to them by way of buying time to gather his thoughts, raising his eyebrows. "Is anything wrong?" he asked sardonically.

"No, Master," the closest one squeaked, and the rest of them hurried to flock away towards the kitchens, muttering amongst themselves.

"Sorry, dear, what were you saying?" Rabastan swiveled back around in his chair to face Alanna.

Without the constant bustling of the house elves, the room in which they sat suddenly felt huge to Alanna. Such grandeur really wasn't necessary for the sole use of two people, and the words they spoke bounced off of the walls more sharply than she would have liked. She felt like she and Rabastan rattled around in this room like beans in a shoebox.

"I was saying how I'd love to hear more about your work," she said quietly.

This time, Rabastan's countenance was composed, his reply ready. His crooked smile appeared once more as he said, "You know I can't say much about it. We enter a pact of secrecy when we first join." His grin faded and he adopted a serious expression. "And it would be too dangerous for me to involve you anyway. If the Ministry ever got wind of our operations, they would destroy us all. I'm trying to protect you, Alanna."

Alanna sighed. Their conversations always went like this. She forever tiptoed around sensitive subjects on eggshells whenever they spoke of their lives apart from each other, for fear that she might somehow unleash his temper.

"I know," she whispered, looking back down at her plate. "And you know I'm grateful. It's just that I get lonely, staying here without any company while you are away. Nobody ever comes here to visit unless you are here."

Rabastan wrinkled his nose. "Nobody? What about all your old friends from Hogwarts? You should get in touch with them."

"I didn't…I have no idea what has become of any of them," Alanna replied hurriedly. She didn't want to tell him that she had regarded Hogwarts—and almost everyone who attended there—as a general inconvenience, an obstacle which limited her. Even so, she had greatly preferred the castle to her summer lodgings: she had stayed at a stinking, festering orphanage in Liverpool.

Alanna forced her mind back to the subject at hand. "In case you don't remember, I suddenly up and left them in the middle of seventh year to come live with you." She smiled slightly at the memory. "I haven't seen or heard from them since. I doubt they even know where I disappeared to."

"Where else would you have gone?" he asked, not unkindly.

Alanna shrugged. "Certainly not back to that awful orphan house. That stinking, dirty place was overcrowded with stinking, dirty children. From dawn until dusk, they screamed and cried and chased each other around, and there was no escape from them…" _Except for my music_, she added to herself silently.

Rabastan laughed, very softly, but it still inspired its usual streak of pain. Nobody knew that she was an orphan. She rarely thought about her parents and spoke of them even less. What was the point? They were gone, and she knew nearly nothing about it. On the books she was a pureblood, simply by the surname they had left her with at the orphanage: _Lancaster_. The workers at the orphanage told her that her mother had been burdened with a mysterious disorder of the psyche, and that her father had left them both when the woman's behavior became unbearable. Her mother had been found unconscious, sedated with drugs, a few weeks later.

Alanna had been four when all this happened. She remembered nothing of her mother, but of her father she knew his laugh. A low chuckling, like a man is prone to uttering when he is amused by his child. But every time she heard a sound remotely like her father's laugh, it sent a searing pain through her heart. And it was less than convenient that Rabastan's easy laugh affected her with such heaviness.

"Well, what would you have me do about it?" Rabastan asked, and for a moment Alanna had been so lost in her own reverie that she had quite forgotten what they were talking about.

"The orphanage?" she asked softly. "There's nothing to be done now."

"No, no. You said you had no visitors, nobody to keep you company. Would you like me to hire a personal maid?"

The very thought made Alanna chuckle. "Hired company is not the same, Rab! Besides, I would tire of her—or scare the poor thing away—within a month. I need someone who can entertain me. I need someone on the same intellectual level as you."

Rabastan looked at her strangely, like he had never considered her as an intelligent being with intellectual needs of her own. "I don't understand," he said slowly.

Alanna cast a quick glance at him out of the corner of her eye before she dropped her gaze nonchalantly down to her plate again. "Oh, I don't know," she stalled, a feeling of apprehension rising inside her core, a red-flagged warning against obeying the impulse that had seized her. At that moment, her strong desire to prove her worth to Rabastan had manifested itself behind a new, daring idea. And she would not be lonely.

"What?" he asked, somewhat impatiently. He had cleared his plate and now wished nothing more than a hot shower and an early night.

"I'd like to meet some of your friends, dear."

Rabastan froze in his agitated state, his hands dropping to his sides. "What?" he asked again, sounding aghast.

Now that she had begun, Alanna was determined to finish. Admitting that this request caused her discomfort would only give him more grounds to refuse it. "I know that because you've been busy, we haven't ever gotten the chance to socialize much as a couple. I've only ever caught glimpses of your friends when they come pick you up to go to the bar. And don't you think it's time I met your family, too?" she pressed.

Underneath the table, her trembling hands gripped the hem of her skirt tightly. They had ventured into this dangerous territory before, but she had always backed away before the imminent explosion of temper could occur. Now the cold knot of malice that festered at the base of her heart burned strongly against her fear. After today, it was the least he owed her.

Rabastan opened his mouth to speak—and inevitably argue, as he always did. But the spark of anger that usually ignited in his eyes before his temper lashed was not there. All Alanna could discern was the weariness that usually accompanied him home, tinged with a dash of fear.

_What are you afraid of?_ she wanted to ask, feeling lightheaded from holding her breath. But, of course, she did not dare.

"I don't want to talk about this right now," Rabastan said, sighing and heaving himself up from the table. He deposited his napkin, unused and white as snow, onto the table beside his plate.

Alanna frowned, and emboldened by his lack of response, pushed further. "If not now, then when, Rab? I want to meet your family. I consider it an honor!" she exclaimed. Her flashing eyes burned, simultaneously angry and terrified. "Why won't you let them see me? Are you ashamed of me?"

His eyes snapped to her face instantly, startled. "No. No, never." He walked over to stand behind her chair and stroke her hair. The action soothed her against her will. "I just think…I just think it would complicate things between us. But if it will ease your concerns, love, I'll arrange something."

Alanna exhaled, the breath leaving her feeling deflated and hollow. "I wish I didn't have to throw a temper tantrum for you to understand what I want," she said regretfully.

Rabastan's fingers lifted out of her hair, and she missed their presence almost immediately. "What about Rodolphus? Will he do?" he asked, avoiding her comment.

Alanna nodded sadly as she turned to watch him head toward the doorway. This was not how she had imagined his homecoming to pass. But then again, things seemed almost never to be how she imagined them to be. The deception of her mind's eye was her own fault and her fault alone. Rabastan had little to do with her disappointment. She had ruined this evening for herself by building it up in her expectations past anything even remotely possible.

"I'll owl him in the morning," he said as he disappeared from view, leaving Alanna alone with her thoughts, which rattled about the large room loudly like beans in a shoebox.

**A/N: Please leave me a review to tell me whether or not you like this! I appreciate it. =]**


	3. Family Ties

Saviour, Chapter 3

_Family Ties_

Two days after his initial homecoming, Rabastan told Alanna that he would be inviting some old childhood friends over for tea in the afternoon. Alanna's heart jumped at the news—perhaps he had really taken her request into serious consideration. She could feel a smile tugging at the corners of her lips until Rab said, "Would you please go to Diagon Alley and pick up some things for me while they are here?"

"Why do I have to go today? Is it that important?" Alanna asked cautiously. She wondered if she could convince Rab to let her stay and meet his friends before leaving, or perhaps even postpone the shopping trip to another day, when she and Rab could go together.

"Well, I need some new socks, for one," he replied with a grin. "My favorite pair—the one with the Quaffles on them—is becoming threadbare."

Alanna frowned, irritated and disappointed. "Socks? That's what you so urgently need me to buy?" She glanced out of the window to where the autumn leaves, propelled by strong gusts of wind, swirled like brown cyclones. "It's cold outside, dear. I don't want to leave the house unless I really have to."

"You have to," Rabastan said sharply. "I have an entire list of things I'll need right away, and I can't simply pick up and leave when I'm expecting guests. Plus, I can never trust the house elves to buy the right things." He walked down the hallway over to the desk in his study, picked up a quill, and began to scrawl hurriedly onto a piece of blank parchment. A short note from Rodolphus lay nearby on the desk, but Rabastan barely glanced at it. "I haven't been home in two weeks, and you know how I lose things while I'm away."

"I guess that's true," Alanna conceded, her aggravation falling away slightly. She knew Rabastan was scatter-brained like her, and never seemed to be able to keep track of his belongings either. It was another sign of a preoccupied mind, though personally Alanna found it endearing.

After a prolonged silence as Alanna waited at the doorway, Rabastan emerged from his study and handed her the list. "Thank you, love, and don't worry about playing the hostess. The house elves will manage the tea and snacks."

"I never play the hostess," Alanna reminded him of their near-argument two nights ago, and the promise that Rab had made to her. She was afraid that maybe he had forgotten to owl Rodolphus.

Rabastan furrowed his brow in confusion for a moment as he appraised her anger. He tried to control the stab of disappointment in his heart as he realized that all this was not only another one of Alanna's passing fancies, to be cast aside as quickly as it had entered her mind. Rabastan had so hoped that if he didn't mention it, she would have forgotten his promise, and lunch with the Lestranges could have been avoided.

But now she was angry, and if he wanted to appease her there was no choice but to brave the tempest that was his brother's wife. He grinned crookedly at her, as if he was finally now remembering their small row. "Oh, Gods, I forgot to tell you!" Rabastan exclaimed, shaking his head sheepishly. "Rodolphus replied to my owl yesterday."

"Yes? Well? What did he say?" Try as she might, Alanna was unable to rein in her enthusiasm.

"He said he and his new wife Bellatrix would meet us for lunch at the Three Broomsticks on Thursday at noon." Rabastan smiled wryly and handed Alanna her cloak from where it hung on the wall. He slipped a small metal key into her cold hand. "Now, you had better get going or else you won't be able to get back before dark. Here's the key to my Gringotts vault. Thanks, love."

Alanna recognized the dismissal, and trudged towards the front door in defeat. But the prospect of finally sitting down with Rabastan's friends—and _family_, no less—warmed her considerably. She knew that even meeting the Lestranges for the first time would take her one giant step closer to her ultimate goal—to bear Rabastan's surname.

She took a second look at the list in her hand just before she exited the door, and nearly laughed out loud. _Quaffle socks,_ it read. _Disposable Razors. Coffee mug. Wand polish. The Trollops and the Trolls' latest album—I seem to have misplaced mine._

* * *

Rabastan and Alanna Apparated to the Three Broomsticks pub in Hogsmeade at noon on the appointed day to find the place virtually deserted. After all, nobody came to the pub in the middle of the day unless they were unemployed. Or, in Rabastan's case, it was only possible if they had a very erratic job schedule.

Alanna, noticing this, looked around more closely at the few people in the pub. Rodolphus and Bellatrix had not yet arrived. Most of the bar's patrons paid her no attention and continued to lounge about lazily, but there were several shrewd-looking men scattered about who observed her and Rabastan with sharp eyes. Rabastan avoided their eyes uncomfortably and escorted Alanna hurriedly to a table.

"Do you recognize those men, love?" she asked curiously. "I've never seen them before, but it seems like they know you."

"They don't," Rabastan said tersely. "They must be mistaken." He gestured to an empty seat at the table in front of them, and they both sat down. He was careful to place Alanna so that she would sit with her back to the men.

"So when will Rodolphus and Bellatrix arrive?" Alanna asked, fidgeting eagerly and smoothing her black skirt. "You know, I haven't seen them in years, ever since they graduated from Hogwarts. I'm so glad to finally be meeting some of your friends, Rab." She looked to Rabastan, suddenly nervous at the sight of his bland expression. "I can't believe your brother married Bellatrix Black! Do you think they will remember me?"

"I have no idea, dear, but I'm sure it doesn't matter," Rabastan sighed in a weary manner. "But Bella rarely agrees to go to lunch with anyone, so we are…lucky." He smiled dryly, causing Alanna to smile back in a rare moment of peace between them.

"Good afternoon, sir, miss." Alanna jumped as a server appeared at their table from behind her and set a bottle of firewhiskey down in front of Rabastan. "On lunch break, are we?"

"Yes," Rabastan replied quickly before Alanna could answer. "We'll be another moment, if you don't mind. There are two more people who are arriving shortly."

"Oh, of course," the server replied smoothly, and walked away.

Once he was out of earshot, Alanna grinned at Rabastan. "You know, dear, it really is okay to admit that you aren't working. I mean, it might be a blow to your ego, but honesty is always the best policy to impress…" She trailed off her teasing as Rabastan sent her a cold look.

"I do work," he said, sounding slightly irked.

Alanna sighed, regretfully admitting to herself that Rabastan had been particularly on edge ever since his latest outing. Then again, his irritability could also just be attributed to nervousness about seeing his brother today. Maybe they weren't on amicable terms with each other anymore, and Alanna had only forced him into this.

The very thought induced the onslaught of a suffocating wave of guilt, and Alanna resolved immediately to do anything to make him feel better.

"Well, then," she began again in a light-hearted voice, "your organization is about the only job I know of that gives so much time off on the weekdays. Bellatrix and your brother must work for Riddle, too, if they were able to meet us here today."

"Shut up!" Rabastan snarled viciously, his eyes suddenly ablaze with fear. Hurriedly he swiveled around in his chair and glanced around the room to see if anyone had heard her. "How _dare_ you talk about that _here_?!" he hissed furiously once he had turned back around to face her. "Don't you know any better, you stupid girl?"

"But—but I didn't realize—" Alanna stammered, terrified. Tears were beginning to well up in her eyes. She hadn't meant to put him in danger.

"Well, when Bella and Rodolphus get here, you had better become smarter fast," Rabastan stated darkly, the anger in his eyes swiftly fading though he fought to keep the bulk of his disdain from his voice. "They will have no tolerance for your ignorance."

Alanna bowed her head sorrowfully, blinking away her tears as Rabastan unfurled the menu and placed it in front of him. Silently he turned his attention entirely from her to study the choices printed on the paper, and Alanna fought a strong urge to really cry.

"Rab…" She exhaled shakily, and reaching across the table, placed a cold, trembling hand on his in apology. "I'm sorry, love. I didn't realize I was wrong until too late."

For a few long moments he refused to look up at her. To take no notice of her was more than a sign of disrespect and contempt when wielded against Alanna; it was a punishment. He knew that with every second he tarried, her need for his validation grew tenfold, and it was that desperation which inflicted her heart with pain far deeper than mere physicality.

When he finally deigned to look at her, a movement behind her drew his attention. His eyes went wide and he drew himself up nervously, removing Alanna's hand from his. "Don't be sorry," he told her quietly. "Just learn quickly. Here they come."

Slowly Alanna turned in her seat. Entering the room first was a tall, dark man with a handsome face, made so only by regularity of feature. Alanna could undeniably recognize her Rabastan in his face, but the new man's eyes were dull and betrayed no sense of command like that in Rabastan's gaze. Clearly this man had been born to follow, not to lead. In a fleeting rush of triumphant affection, Alanna knew that she herself had chosen the stronger Lestrange brother.

On his arm Rodolphus Lestrange led a thin woman with long tangles of black hair. With a rising sense of trepidation, Alanna saw that within Bellatrix Lestrange's wild-eyed, malicious face there now gleamed a trace of madness. She had always had a tendency to cruel behavior, Alanna remembered. Dumbledore had never appointed her as a prefect for that very reason. And also for that very reason, all of the fear that Bella's reputation had inspired over the years came flooding into Alanna at that instant. She wanted nothing more than to grab Rabastan by the arm, and flee.

"Rab—" Alanna muttered meekly.

"Stay put." The corner of Rabastan's mouth curled up wryly in a strange sense of satisfaction at her fear. "You wanted this lunch, now you must endure it."

As the Lestrange couple crossed the room, headed for their table, the idle shrewd-eyed men scattered across the room turned their heads to watch them. Rodolphus stared straight ahead as he walked with a stiff gait towards his brother, but in comparison Bellatrix was careless. Her presence commanded the room even as her husband slunk in her shadow. She addressed the other men with proud, haughty nods that spoke of familiarity.

"How does she…?" Alanna began to ask, but was interrupted by Rabastan once more.

"Stand up," he ordered as he himself did the same. The other couple was almost upon them. Clenching his fists tightly in his pockets, Rabastan took a step towards them. "Dear brother, it has been too long…" he called out loudly, and though his voice was warm, it contained a strain that had not been present before.

Alanna waited hesitantly for Rabastan to clasp hands with Rodolphus and kiss Bella on the cheek before rising. The two new Lestranges seemed to take no notice of her, even as she stuck her hand out for them to shake.

"I'm Alanna Lancaster," she said, her voice coming out in more of a squeak. "It's nice to meet you, Rodolphus and Bellatrix."

Rodolphus glanced at her offered hand for a moment before reaching out to take it. "Lancaster, you said?" he asked in a quiet voice.

Alanna nodded and smiled as Bellatrix took her hand in turn. The other woman's hand was thin and hard, though not as cold with apprehension as Alanna's own. Bellatrix smiled back, as if she could sense the unquiet that she had caused.

"I'm sorry, dear," she said to Alanna as she and her husband took their seats, "but I haven't heard much of anything about you. How long have you and Rab been together?" A smirk played on her lips.

Alanna bit her own lip, her heart pounding. She was certain that Rabastan must have mentioned something about her in these past four years that they had been living together. After all, Bellatrix and Rodolphus were part of his family. Why wouldn't he want them to know?

Her mind raced for a proper answer, and she found herself unable to think while surveyed by Bellatrix's cold grey eyes. She settled for placing her hand over Rabastan's own and replying, "We've been housemates for years, and I'm so very happy about it." She followed with a tinkling laugh that rang hollow and grating in the air when nobody else so much as cracked a smile.

Rabastan made no effort to save her. Instead, he had buried his face in the menu once again, and with an apprehensive glance across the table his brother followed suit.

Bellatrix beamed at Alanna. "Oh, I'm so happy for you two, dear. When's the wedding, then?"

Rabastan reached for his glass of firewhiskey as Alanna blushed. She cleared her throat before answering, "Well, we haven't really—"

"Good afternoon, again, and welcome to the Three Broomsticks! What would you ladies and gentlemen like today?" The server had returned with a wide grin on his face and a cheerful voice that Alanna winced at, feeling that it was ill-suited for the occasion. Bellatrix had not but just walked in the door, and Alanna was already drowning in her presence.

"I think I'll be having the…" Rodolphus began to speak to the waiter, looking to his wife for approval. With Bellatrix occupied, Rabastan leaned slightly to the left across the table to whisper in Alanna's ear.

"She means no harm, love," he muttered. "Please don't offend her."

Alanna glared at Rabastan, but could only nod sharply as Bellatrix turned her attention back to them. "I'm sorry," the other woman said, dismissing the matter with a shrug of her shoulders. The smirk had returned with full vindictive force. "What were you saying, Alanna?"

Alanna felt her cheeks burning and repressed the urge to clap her cold fingers onto her face. She had always been somewhat of a proud person, despite the limitations of her fragile psyche. There had always been only one exception where she was rendered helpless, torn asunder from her pride by the force of a bond. It was uncomfortable for her to experience the same urge towards Bellatrix, whom she was growing to hate as much as she loved Rabastan.

Looking to Rabastan, she found that he was still hiding his face in his glass of firewhiskey. Bellatrix was waiting expectantly for an answer, and Alanna noticed with a rising sense of tension that his eyes occasionally wandered to her. Unclenching her jaw, Alanna looked the other woman in the eye and swallowed her pride painfully. "I was saying that we haven't discussed that matter at length yet."

"Oh." Bellatrix laughed knowingly. "I quite understand. With life so busy for the two of you and all, I doubt you even have time to enjoy each other's company. It's alright, dear," she said, consoling Alanna with a brisk pat on the arm. It was as if she could scarcely bear to touch her.

"I thank Merlin every day that Rodolphus and I have not given in to the difficulties of that situation," she continued, laying a claw on her husband's shoulder.

Alanna and Rabastan shared a doubtful glance. His eyes had flickered like lightning in her direction for only a fraction of a second, but the warmth she felt in his gaze immediately revitalized her strength and will to fight. The love between Bellatrix and Rodolphus was something that she would never want for him and herself.

"Don't worry about us, _dear_," Alanna assured her coldly. "The situation is difficult, but I'm sure it will work out in the end."

With that, she turned her attention to the passing pedestrians in the street framed by the window, hoping to quell the flow of conversation once and for all. Unfortunately, Bellatrix only became more reckless when she was deprived of an audience. Affecting a sudden revelation of sorts, Bellatrix surged from her seat with alarming speed, her eyes wild with excitement.

"Rab, I have just the solution to your problems!" she cried, seizing the other man's hands. Her husband, the other Lestrange brother, did not flinch. "We should introduce Alanna to our friends!"

Rodolphus's stoic, unmoving countenance slipped into a momentary grimace as Rabastan choked on his own breath. "What did you say?" he asked, aghast at the thought.

Bella's eyes shone with a sliver of mirth, so suppressed that Alanna could not at all tell whether or not her intentions were malicious. Perhaps this was only a joke. Perhaps Bellatrix enjoyed being trying—perhaps she liked to test the nerves of all who crossed her path—and it was all in good humor. Alanna bit back another angry retort as the other woman threw back her tangled head of hair and laughed outright.

"Relax, Rab! I meant only that maybe it would help your relationship if you involved Alanna in your life outside of home. I mean, you're always away." Bella grinned at Rabastan, who slumped, pale and nervous, in his seat. "I'm surprised that Alanna even bothers to deal with you, the poor dear."

"We do not deal with each other, we love each other!" Alanna interjected heatedly, her voice edging higher with strain as she fought to keep from lashing out at the laughing woman. "And I thank you for your counsel, Bella, but in all honesty our relationship needs no help."

Caught within a surge of pride, Alanna had practically convinced herself of the truth in that statement. Temporarily gone was the small knot of ill-feelings she had harbored against Rabastan's long absence. She felt that if he was subdued by the oppressive personality of this woman, if he could not step up to receive the blows, then it was her responsibility to defend their honor.

Alanna clenched her fists so tightly underneath the table that her nails dug painful trenches into her palms. She knew she was losing control. After all, the pendulum swung wildly when she did not have Rabastan to support her.

Bellatrix had raised her eyebrows in a feigned hurt expression. "There's no need to get testy, dear, I was merely speaking as a friend. Rab has been…restless ever since he was young, and I'm surprised to see him finally happy to be committed to someone."

Rabastan cleared his throat and frowned warningly. "I am here, you know, Bella."

Bellatrix chuckled again with easy familiarity that made Alanna's stomach squirm. "I know, dear, I know." Rabastan's frown deepened as he realized that she would not heed the warning.

Bella turned to her husband, who was eyed the bare table unhappily. Evidently he also wished not to be a part of this conversation. "Hasn't Alanna absolutely transformed your brother?" she asked him, a vindictive look flashing through her eyes. "Why, I remember when he used to have a different girl in his bed every night. We thought he'd never change." She smiled with lupine teeth bared. "He was always partial to blondes, too. Alanna must have performed some sort of miracle!"

Rodolphus glanced over at Alanna with cold, empty eyes that spoke of no emotion at all. His face was impassive. He himself was worn down, dulled by years of oppressive company until all reactive emotion had simply fled him.

Slowly Alanna realized that the building pain and panic within her had not been solely caused by this wild-eyed woman with the maniacal grin, but by the indifferent man and the helpless lover. A tremble grew in Alanna's limbs as she looked at the three Lestranges seated opposite her, and saw that they each had a part to play. She herself was the only remaining variable, but she was allowing herself to be twisted and pulled accordingly to their will—according to Bella's will.

Bellatrix took her silence for submission and dealt the final crushing blow with a smile on her face. If she had not known better, Alanna would have thought it a joke. "You know, I admire you, Alanna, dear. I really do. It takes a very strong woman to place the amount of trust in a man that you do in Rabastan. I'm not sure he deserves it."

The mounting pressure of frustration pounded in her head and threatened to overflow, but Alanna was beyond reaction. Bellatrix's words, sharp as daggers, buzzed harmlessly on her deaf ears and yet the meaning behind them struck through with impossible clarity. The faces of the Lestranges, equally malicious and impassive, swam before her eyes. The feeling of claustrophobia was overwhelming. They were closing in on her and suffocating her life force, for without her trust in Rabastan she knew she could not breathe alone. Her throat was choked with grief—her breath was leaving her—and the trust was slipping away through her fingers. She made a final grasp for it as she stood up and stumbled her way to the washroom, passing on her way the cheerful waiter who had finally arrived with their meal.

It was too late.

**A/N: So? Did you guys like it? Please leave me your thoughts about this chapter in a review! I'd really appreciate it.**


	4. Search and Seizure

**Saviour, Chapter 4**

_Search and Seizure_

After the horrid affair at the Three Broomsticks, it was yet another few days before Rabastan announced that he was being summoned to a 2-day conference in the city and would need to leave immediately.

"Gods, I wish I didn't have to go again so soon, love," he sighed apologetically, running his hand through his dark hair in exaggerated agitation. It stuck up in sloppy angles, so Alanna simply brushed it straight again with her fingers before ushering him and his heavy trunk quickly through the front door.

Rabastan raised his eyebrows at her behavior and turned around to face her. "I'm going to have to stay overnight at the hotel tonight," he warned her. "I don't want us to part on a bad note. I hope I've made myself clear on how sorry I am for what Bella said."

"Hmm," Alanna mused, clearly not paying attention.

"You know, I warned you that meeting my family would not be a great idea. I know they can be a bit trying sometimes, especially to strangers," Rabastan said, looking more and more concerned.

Alanna avoided his eyes and instead watched the dead leaves stir on the grassy lawn outside at a point just above his shoulder. "Don't worry about it," she stated flatly. "Just concentrate on your work. That's more important, anyway."

Rabastan made a last desperate attempt to ease his fears. Had Bella pushed her away from him for good? That could only mean danger to all of them. Was Alanna out for vengeance on the Lestranges? Would he return home this time to an empty house, with Alanna gone and a regiment of Aurors awaiting him in her place? He grabbed for her hand and held it, looking earnestly into her face. "You have every right to be angry, love, but Bella is a flighty person. More often than not she speaks without thinking, so I hope you'll put your heart to ease and forgive us both."

Alanna rewarded his apology with a nod and a tense smile. She realized that she would never be rid of him unless she pretended nothing was wrong. "Of course," she said shortly. "Have a nice trip, dear." And then he was gone.

Feeling a strange rush of relief as he made his departure, Alanna could barely muster the interest to bid him goodbye. Instead, she reveled at finally being alone to consider her thoughts. These last few days following the Bellatrix Incident—as Alanna had christened it in thorough humiliation—had been fraught with tension, and the both of them skulking cautiously about the house had made Rabastan's presence unbearable. It was an alien feeling to Alanna, utterly unknown until now, that she would wish to be alone without him. Yet she knew that it was exactly what she wanted, to be alone.

Things were different now because of a feverish suspicion that had lodged itself into Alanna's brain since her encounter with Bellatrix. For her own pride's sake she had brushed off all of Rabastan's following apologies for the other woman's vindictive behavior, but she could not dislodge the demons that Bella had unleashed. They cackled and clawed at her insides with their fiery fingernails, agitating her beyond tolerance.

Just because she and Rabastan refused to acknowledge the glaring gaps in their lives, the demons seemed to remind Alanna constantly, that didn't mean the problems didn't exist.

Whenever Rabastan was around, this horrible, uncertain feeling multiplied, but when he was gone she thought of it still. There was no respite, yet she wished for him to leave all the same. Only when he left her presence could she drop all pretenses and root down to the deepest point of her suspicion. Only then could she rid herself of this awful uncertainty.

She started in their bedroom.

Rabastan was away so frequently that the sheets never smelled of him, like they should have. Instead they gave off a light lavender scent of the soap the house elves used to wash the linens.

Quickly she rifled through his clothing dresser, finding nothing but the plain t-shirts and undergarments she had expected. Like the sheets, they gave off the bland smell of laundry. She examined the shirts one by one, looking for stains she couldn't remember ever being there before; spills of wine glasses knocked over in the heat of passion; smudges of lipstick from careless and uncontrollable whims; and dustings of cosmetic powder. With each shirt that came up clean, the knot in her stomach loosened. Finally, she even looked for pipes and needles, buried in the corners of the drawers. But she found nothing.

Replacing everything neatly in the manner in which she found them, she moved on to the closet. Here hung sweaters, suit jackets, slacks, dress robes, casual robes, and even his old Slytherin Quidditch robes. Hidden all the way in the deepest corner, the deep green cloth inspired an onslaught of old Quidditch memories.

_Chaser_. She had spent hours considering why he seemed to elevate himself above his team on the pitch—even when he was not scoring goals Rabastan had been the center of attention. Her Rabastan had been perfect for the position of Chaser, and none of the other ones, because of the restlessness that dominated his mind. Seekers concentrated on a single goal, a small, elusive prey which did not foster patience in those who did not already have the trait—and Rabastan did not. He had never been particularly fond of brute strength, either: teams had to depend on the ever-blazing spirit and energy of their Beaters, and that was a responsibility that Rabastan didn't want to carry. The Keeper was purely a defensive position, for all purposes the chief laborer of the team that yet harvested almost none of the glory. Needless to say, Rabastan had always craved the aggressiveness of the sport of Quidditch almost as much as the glory that came with it. So Chaser it had been.

"Keepers, Beaters, Seekers—ha! The real game in the sport lies with the Chasers and the Quaffle. Strip away all of the fancy details, and we're all you need," he used to tell Alanna, back when they had discussed the game together. Unbeknownst to anyone but him, she loved watching Quidditch. She would bundle up in the winter, or wear a sunhat in the spring, and sit in the stands to watch the Slytherin team play. She had been the lone figure sitting on the stairs, surrounded by a sea of hollering silver and green fans in the stands.

"Not true," she had argued. "If it weren't for Keepers, the Quaffle would go through almost every time."

Rabastan had smiled with his crooked grin. "But who watches the Keepers, love? The action is all with the Chasers until the final moment when the Seeker catches that damn Snitch. What's the point in playing, in expending all your sweat and blood, if nobody's watching?"

Alanna thought with small irony that Rabastan's attitude towards Quidditch held much resemblance to the way he regarded a family.

Now she flipped the set of robes around to look at the back side. Emblazoned grandly across the shoulder blades in silver was the name _R. Lestrange_. Alanna had become quite accustomed to the sight of those silver letters during her time at Hogwarts; that was almost all she had ever seen of him during the House after-game celebrations. Even then she had mused at the unnecessary "R" that had preceded his surname. It was an assertion of his pride, more than anything else. After all, Rodolphus had never played Quidditch.

Alanna's thoughts were brought back to the present when, running her hand across a line of soft sweaters, her fingers snagged on a small piece of metal. Hurriedly she brought the offending sweater up close to her nose to examine it, and her heart nearly stopped.

Embedded in a stitch close to his heart was a small silver pin, enameled black in the shape of a flower.

_Black._

Immediately Alanna's mind snapped to Bellatrix and in a vicious, jealous rage she tore off the pin and tossed it across the room, where it landed with an audible clatter.

"How _dare_ she?" she thundered, the blood pounding through her skull to pool around her cheeks and light them afire. The pressure built in her temples until she could barely hear herself think, and couldn't hear herself breathe. Alanna could feel her breath leaving her again in a familiar sensation as she fought to keep her trust in Rabastan healthy and alive. Her mind pushed it away, pushed the breath out of her lungs. Her heart called feebly for it to return. It was dying.

Slamming the closet door shut without a second look, she leapt onto the bed. She landed face-first within the infuriatingly generic lavender-scent and buried her head under the suffocating mass of pillows, breathing it into her rebellious lungs. She felt her chest heave and waited for the sobs and the wave of wild sorrow that would inevitably follow.

But they did not straight away. Even with anger ascending to a frightening level within her, Alanna knew that it didn't make sense. A woman of Bellatrix's character was destined for a man like Rodolphus Lestrange, not his brother. The older Lestrange was moldable, pliable, and would become anything that his wife demanded. Bella could never offer the same service to Rabastan which his brother provided for her. Rab himself was scatterbrained and wild of nature, and under the influence of Bellatrix he would grow only more so.

Alanna reasoned—no, she knew with deep certainty—that because Rabastan had accustomed himself to taking care of her, within the last four years she had reined in some of his fragmented concentration with her own. It was for the good of both of them to stay together—and Bellatrix Lestrange would ruin the balance.

She extracted her face from the bland sheets and focused for a moment on the fine stitching in the French linen. They could have been hotel sheets, for all they smelled of laundry. There was no hint of Rabastan about them. Her mind reeled as she pictured them on somebody else's bed, under somebody else's warmth. It fit. They _were _something like hotel sheets. They didn't belong to her.

Alanna let out a hoarse sob. Where had all this gone astray? Things had been going so well. It had taken four years, but she and Rab were almost there.

But now there was this pin, this small trinket which at first glance seemed so unimportant and yet was an indication of everything wrong in her relationship. Even if it didn't belong to Bellatrix, the flower had been just as effective in conveying her message. Alanna knew she would not be able to rest until she knew who it belonged to—who had come into her home and wrenched apart her peace of mind.

In a spurt of inspiration, Alanna had an idea. She slid off of the bed and bent over to pick up the pin. "Gimpy!" she cried, an unusual snap of authority in her tone. "Come here!"

Almost instantly a trembling house-elf stood cowering in the doorway. It was amazing how fast the little creatures could run when they had the mind to. "Yes, Mistress?" he said in a small voice, fidgeting with the hem of the sheet that covered his small frame. He was Rabastan's oldest house-elf, and had a long white beard that trailed comically behind him.

"I need a box," Alanna ordered. She held out her hand, the pin dangling, repulsive to her touch, between her forefinger and thumb. "And I need you to hide _this_ in it."

Gimpy eyed the pin with open distrust. "Where did Mistress get that flower?" he asked. "Is it for Master?" When Alanna didn't answer, he said perceptively, "That isn't Mistress's flower, is it?"

Alanna didn't have the heart to reprimand the poor creature for asking too many questions, even as Gimpy scolded himself and began to bash his own fingers in the door as punishment. The sound of his short and tortured yelps grated on her nerves.

"Stop that," Alanna snapped, yanking the house-elf away from the doorframe. Her spirits sunk with every moment she spent looking at the wretched pin. There was no way she could live with it in her presence, but neither could she leave it in Rabastan's possession. There was only one solution: to bury it somewhere deep in her mind and far away. "Gimpy, are you listening to me?"

"Yes, Mistress," he said, standing at attention, his eyes still on the piece of silver in her hand.

Alanna bent down to face the little elf at eye level. "Gimpy, you must tell me what you know. Do you know whose pin that is?" she asked slowly, as if she was talking to a child.

The elf hesitated for a moment, and it looked like he was about to refuse to answer her. "But Master—"

"Oh, sod the master, you wretched thing!" Alanna cried. Taking the elf roughly by the shoulders, she blinked back tears of despair. "I am your mistress! Do you hear me? You cannot lie to me! Do you or do you not know the name of the lady who gave your master this pin?"

The brightness in Gimpy's large eyes seemed to dim in sympathy when he saw the pain visible in Alanna's face. He let out a little breath before he said quietly, "No, Mistress. Gimpy does not know her name."

"You lie," Alanna snarled. Despite her best efforts to contain them, the tears in her eyes had bubbled over to slide slowly down her cheeks. She turned away from the house-elf in utter shame and let her eyes wander across the landscape paintings on the walls. The sunny plains and sparkling beaches seemed so surreal.

"Gimpy does not lie!" the house-elf cried urgently, tugging on Alanna's sweater. Alanna could not tell the difference between fear and guilt in the creature. "Gimpy does not know where the flower came from! He does not know which lady, Mistress, Gimpy swears he does not know…" The elf trailed off, now consumed with sobs of his own.

Alanna wiped her wet cheeks and sat down hard on the ground with a thump. In her hand she still clutched the enameled black flower, and its sharp edges cut into her palm mercilessly. Without opening her eyes, she whispered, "_Which lady_?"

Behind her, she could hear Gimpy gulp. Now it was apparent to Alanna that the old elf was conflicted between his mistress's orders for the truth and his master's trust and well-being. An unusual calm set over her mind as she forced the rising panic away for a moment and tried to think rationally. She realized that it was no use blaming the poor elf for her relationship's shortcomings. She wasn't even sure of the truth in her assumptions—in fact, she was certain it was her own paranoia, enflamed by Bellatrix Lestrange's lies—so there was nothing to do about it until Rabastan returned home. Then, she could ask him about it and clear the air for good. It could not be true. Her Rabastan? No, it was impossible.

Her conscience, which cried out violently against the denial, was smothered by the acute shame she felt as she tried to rationalize what she saw, and failed. Confused thoughts swirled wildly, wrenching her psyche awry.

"Don't cry, Gimpy," she said dully without turning around. "Just put this cursed thing into a box and hide it in the cellar." She dropped the pin on the floor, where it clattered again against the cold tiles. Wiping her face on her sleeve, she rose. All at once, the silence in the empty house became unbearable, a crushing weight on her lungs. She wanted to breathe air untainted with Bellatrix's demons.

"And Gimpy, one more thing. I'll be going out for lunch."

**A/N: SO. Everyone reading this right now is very special, because you guys are the first to get this new update. That's right, I haven't put this up on HPFF yet! I'm not too happy with this chapter right now, so I decided to give everyone on here the first shot at giving me feedback and criticism so I can fix it before I post it in another place. Please help me! I'd really appreciate it.**


	5. Remembering

**Saviour, Chapter 5**

_Remembering_

As soon as the door fell closed behind her, the fragile dam of denial that she had built in her mind was broken. Insecurity flooded through, and her thoughts began to race along the dangerous course once more.

She raced down the long driveway and onto a non-descript Muggle country lane, casting wild glances around her without seeing much of anything. It was all she could do to suppress the chaos in her mind for one moment while she Apparated—becoming splinched would not help her. She had barely come of age when she had left Hogwarts for Rabastan's household, and had only learned to Apparate clumsily at best. That was another, secondary reason she rarely left the house: she didn't want Rabastan to discover her ineptitude at performing such a minor task. It would only be further proof that Alanna did not deserve him. But now staying inside that empty house for even another minute was out of the question, and she would risk the splinching to escape.

Luckily, she landed whole in an Apparation-safe zone a few blocks from the Leaky Cauldron. Almost immediately the unease which she had left behind caught up with her again and began to fester as she joined the throngs of Muggles swarming down the street, shivering underneath her jacket.

She was sure, in her external consciousness, that it was nearly impossible for Rabastan to be having an affair behind her back. They had lived together for years, and had been lovers for even longer. Rabastan had always expressed the utmost concern when it came to her safety, comfort, and happiness. He toiled away at all hours of the day and night, working hard for his organization to keep up the lifestyle that he provided for her. She never questioned where he acquired things she wanted or how he had the money to pay for them, because she trusted him.

Never mind Bellatrix Lestrange's wayward words, Alanna was sure that Rabastan loved her. Even to contemplate such a betrayal of their bond was insanity.

But below the denial, the incessant rationalization, her inner mind knew that she reasoned in vain. She wanted so much to restore the peace that she had thought she had found in Rabastan's house. Still, she didn't know the truth. Where had it all—if indeed it had—gone wrong?

She halted in front of the Leaky Cauldron, aiming only to cross through to the back and enter Diagon Alley. But when the door to the pub squeaked open and emitted a large gust of warm air into the swirling autumn winds outside, Alanna heard something inside that made her thoughts quiet and her heart jump.

It began as a light tinkling noise, a spattering of bare sounds that barely rose above the din of the pub's drunken chatter. Her breath caught in her throat as a long-estranged emotion tickled her subconscious memory.

She strained her ears to hear more, all the dread of that morning shifting to the back of her mind; this was something even more important. She took a hesitating step towards it, and then another, shivering from recognition and fear more than from the cold. A cramp grew in her legs as she commanded them to stop, in vain. Her hands twitched, the inside palms and fingertips itching. Her frozen cheeks burned with warmth. There was nothing she wanted more than to run away, far enough so that she could not hear it again. But she also wanted to stay. The tinkling intensified until notes rained frantically down upon the small space in the room.

Before Alanna could muster the will to resume her original path out to the alley, she found herself standing right next to the piano. Chords crashed onto her ears in discordant harmony as the piece ended, and then Alanna was left with chattering silence again.

She stood, frozen, and the black and white pattern of the keyboard swam in her vision. She wanted to reach out and touch the cool ivory.

"How can I help you, Miss?" The elderly piano man was staring at her. Of course—she must have looked Confunded. Alanna forced herself to give him a polite smile and reached into her pocket for a sickle, and then dropped it into the glass jar that sat atop the mahogany body of the instrument. Unwillingly she let her fingers brush the wood.

"No, thank you," she murmured. She knew he was waiting for her to request a song, but the only songs that she wished to hear were ones that would certainly be unknown to him. "Just…keep playing."

The piano man smiled easily and returned his attention to the instrument in front of him, flipping through his music books to find his next selection. Alanna wavered between blazing straight through the enticing sound out again into the autumn chill and accepting the warmth that it brought into the small room. But her legs shifted of their own accord, and within a second the decision had been made for her. Trembling, Alanna turned away and began to walk towards the nearest empty table she saw. It was a table for four, but no matter; she had been alone now for twenty-one years. In the background, she barely registered the piano music resuming, but unbeknownst to her the sound began to slowly sooth her distress away.

By the time she chose her seat, her vision had returned to normal and there was nothing left of her previous anxiety but determination. She knew that she deserved Rabastan's full and undivided attention—she had kept it before. But what was it about those early years that had fostered his love?.

Alanna sank back into her chair, glancing about the dingy pub. "What do you wish to have today, lass?" the bartender suddenly called out, leering unabashedly.

Alanna flushed, looking past the man at the assemblage of drinks behind him. She had never seen so many varieties of liquor in so many colors. She rarely drank, and then it was always only whatever Rabastan ordered the house elf to bring to the dinner table. "Some soup and bread would be wonderful," she said. A beautiful rose-colored bottle on the bar caught her attention. After a moment's hesitation, she added, "And…and a glass of the best thing you can make from that raspberry vodka."

The piano tinkled away behind her, the food was brought, and peace seeped slowly through her ears and settled into her unwilling mind. Elusive thoughts flickered by in a dull haze until the music slowed and threw a familiar memory of serenity into sharp relief.

* * *

_The corridors that Alanna took were always silent and nearly empty. For years she had purposely ventured away from the crowds of other students until she had a thorough understanding of which routes were always busy, and which ones were never so. She could sometimes manage to go from class to class without seeing a single person. After all, Alanna had a certain contempt she bestowed on twittering, flighty girls and loud, obnoxious boys. And there were few that would speak to her, anyway._

_An echo of a step sounded on the marble tiles behind her and startled her. This was a corridor that she had taken to this class for weeks, and it had unfailingly always been deserted. Who could possibly be there today?_

_She whipped around, her anger beginning to rise, to see who had disrupted her solitude. Her heart pounded to a halt as she recognized the tall figure and dark hair striding down the hallway towards her. Unintentionally, she slowed her gait until he could easily catch up to her._

_He tilted his head and looked down at her with a crooked grin. "Fancy seeing you here."_

_Alanna tried to frown but found that it was impossible to will the corners of her lips downwards. She couldn't be angry when he smiled so convincingly. Besides, if there was one person at Hogwarts who she could be persuaded to spend time in the company of, it was Rabastan Lestrange._

_"I always go this way," she replied with a small smile. "The fitting question is: what are _you_ doing here?"_

_Rabastan's casual grin did not falter. He shrugged. "Skiving off NEWT Potions. My brother has saved all of his notes for me from a couple years ago, so why bother attending class?" He looked down at Alanna's face curiously. "Actually, I'm supposed to meet some friends down this way." He motioned ahead of them, where the hall split to the left. "But it's nothing urgent. I wouldn't mind walking you to your destination. Where are you going?"_

_"Ancient Runes," Alanna murmured in apprehension, and then Rabastan burst out laughing. She cringed with suppressed pain, turning her face away from him to blink back tears. Even though she had expected it, the searing of her wound was inevitable. Her father never would have laughed at her for attending class._

_"Ancient Runes? When are you ever going to need to decipher ancient runes?" Rabastan shook his head. "That class is such a waste of time, love. Don't go."_

_It wasn't that Alanna didn't agree with him; it most certainly was a waste of time. But she had nowhere else to go, nobody with whom she wanted to skip class. It would almost be as much fun just to go back to her dorm to take a nap._

_"Well, what else is there to do?" Alanna wondered aloud, ready to turn on her heel and change course towards the dungeons._

_Upon hearing this, Rabastan screeched to a halt and pulled Alanna to a stop as well. Her heartbeat, which she had managed to calm in the last few minutes with deep breaths, sputtered to a stop once more at his close vicinity. He bent down until his long nose nearly touched hers, and took her small cold hand into his large warm ones. "Why don't you come with me?"_

_Alanna tried her best to plaster an appropriately indignant expression onto her face at his brazen behavior, but her attempt was feeble at the least. _

_"I—I don't think so. I barely even know you. I bet you don't know my name," she whispered, looking away from him in shame. Her cheeks burned. That was the best thing she could manage? For years now, she had waited for this man to look upon her with anything but dismissal in his gaze. Observing him in silence, she had come to know his character even better than her own. She had plotted and planned so many conversations with him in her mind's eye—but now that the opportunity had finally dropped into her arms, she was failing herself._

_To her immense surprise, Rabastan smiled sincerely. The dreaded and treasured laugh was withheld, and confined to the light in his eyes. "Of course I do," he stated. "It's Alanna, isn't it?"_

_Alanna, entirely taken aback by this, gaped for several moments before finding her voice. She wanted so much to believe that he had finally noticed her, and taken the same kind of interest in her as she had in him. But there was a sliver of insecurity in her pride that overwhelmed her whenever she even simply thought of Rabastan, and that part of her disputed it as impossible. "Well, I suppose you're a diligent prefect, then," she sighed. "But we've scarcely spoken a word to each other."_

_She knew that they had in fact spoken—and she had remembered every word, every expression, and every gesture of every instance. But she was hoping the question would lead him to answer another one, one which she could not bring herself to ask: Why have you waited so long to acknowledge me? Why_ now?

_"Don't be silly," Rabastan replied, looking infinitely amused. "We've spoken plenty enough times to say we're acquainted. Don't you remember? You were about to leave your Transfiguration textbook in the common room a while ago, but I caught up to you and returned it."_

_"Oh, yes," Alanna said stupidly. She had not expected him to remember that trivial encounter. What else did he remember?_

_"And two weeks ago, I came across you exiting the dungeons as I was entering. I asked if you had seen Regulus Black in the common room, and you replied that you had not." The corners of Rabastan's eyes crinkled at the memory. "I looked everywhere for that little imp. He had hexed a couple Gryffindors, and McGonagall told me to bring him in to her. Of course, she has no power over me, but I'd do well to keep Headmaster Dumbledore on my side, at least while I'm still here, don't you think?"_

_Alanna nodded. Talking to him at such close range was beginning to feel uncomfortable. She felt as if Rabastan could see easily through her feeble charades, right down to the bond that drew her irrepressibly to him. She didn't want to be laid bare before him when he had spent almost no time studying her, while after so many years he could still remain an enigma to her._

_So she said, "That's hardly grounds to ask me to skive off lessons with you. So, why…?" Horrified, Alanna repressed the urge to clap her fingers across her mouth. At the moment her tongue seemed out of the jurisdiction of her clamoring mind._

_"That first time I saw you walking away, chasing after you with Transfiguration book in hand, I took a liking to you," Rabastan stated shamelessly, the lights in his dark eyes winking. "I wanted to make an effort to get to know you, so here I am." He grinned again, making Alanna's heart swoop dangerously. "It's only fair. I know you already know me."_

_Instant horror and shame doused Alanna's insides like a bucket of icy water. "What?" she whispered. "W—what do you mean?"_

_"Don't you remember what happened on Saturday night? Or am I of so little consequence to you?" Rabastan asked wryly. "I was sitting with some blokes in our corner of the common room, and you were sitting in a black armchair near the fire." He furrowed his brow as color flushed back into Alanna's pale face in relief. _

_"Oh," she said yet again. "That's right." He had a way of speaking that made every carefully constructed sentence, every meticulously chosen word incite a different feeling inside her. Only moments ago had she been sure that she had met her end—that she would die from humiliation. But now she had gone so weak-kneed with relief that it was all she could do to keep from slumping to the ground._

_"And I thought you looked lonely by the fire, so when my friends headed out, I stayed behind," Rabastan continued. "And I came over to you and told you that I liked your hair, that it was pretty when you wore it down. Don't you remember now?"_

_Alanna nodded again, half-paralyzed with conflicting doubt and ecstasy. It was one thing to fabricate such a conversation between them in her mind's eye; it was quite another to hold one. At the time, she had almost been certain that the encounter he was describing had been a dream._

_Rabastan slipped his fingers through hers in a subtle gesture that sent a tiny involuntary convulsion along her spine. "You looked at me, much like you're looking at me now—as if I was raving mad." Miraculously he contained the laugh that threatened to escape his throat once more. "And then I said that my name was—"_

_"Rabastan Lestrange," Alanna said abruptly. Cursing her tongue, she bit her lip to quiet herself._

_Rabastan smiled triumphantly. "See, you do know me. So, now that that's all settled, would you mind joining me? In the library there are a few interesting books that are worth a look at, and I'm sure Ancient Runes won't miss you too much."_

_Alanna frowned. "The library?" she said with distaste. "Really?"_

_"No, not really." Rabastan laughed at her, but somehow the sound didn't seem to hurt so acutely this time. In fact, the throb simply paled in comparison to the plunge in her stomach as Rabastan closed the distance between them. "I'd be content simply staying here." And then with a sensation surreal and unknown to Alanna, she received her first kiss._

_It wasn't at all like the explicit descriptions she had overheard from late-night conversations pierced with giggles among her dorm-mates. It was nothing. Certainly she felt the warmth of another's breath and the natural heat of desire between two bodies—but it was all on a superficial level. What she really felt, and what she knew she continued the contact for, was the nothingness in her heart and soul when he incased her in his arms. She ceased to think at all, and it was comforting. Rabastan could halt the searing arc her psyche swung with only a touch of his hand, a glance of his dark eyes. They were two halves of a whole that could only heal when they were together. And with that knowledge, Alanna was sure that he loved her._

_She pulled back after a moment, bone cold with fear that she would do something to somehow drive him away. "What about your friends?" she asked._

_Rabastan raised a brow. "What friends? They can wait." And without another word of explanation offered, he bundled her into his embrace and breathed peace into her body through her lips._

_Nothingness had never seemed so addicting._

* * *

The crowd at the bar had changed significantly since Alanna had last looked up. Gone were the quiet old wizards and frail witches that sat to take their tea and gossip. Even the boisterous unemployed men, clad in ratty robes and the perpetual stank of alcoholism, had returned home. Now the younger groups were gathering, ushered in by the end of the workday and the beginning of the weekend. Alanna was sometimes fascinated by their time-dependent routines—every hour of every day seemed to serve the same purpose to her.

Then she noticed that the music had stopped, leaving the air in the room barren.

Standing, she left her empty plate at the table and shuffled her way towards the piano once more. The mahogany gleamed brightly underneath the dim bar lights, the instrument almost too beautiful to be found among loud and coarse patrons. Alanna wondered fleetingly why the piano even bothered to bear such company.

The piano man was smiling at her again, and Alanna noticed that he was an aging, toothless wizard. Returning the smile, she said kindly, "You play beautifully."

"You should come here more often—appreciate it while it lasts." He sighed sadly, flexing gnarled hands. "I don't put in many hours anymore here as it is. My bones are weary, especially in this weather. I can't keep playing here for much longer."

"Go to St. Mungo's," Alanna suggested in a soft voice. "They'll fix you some draught or another that will keep you going."

The piano man picked up a rag and began to wipe down the dust that had collected on the wood. "I would, but I can't," he said offhandedly. "This business doesn't pay too much, and medicines are expensive nowadays." At Alanna's shocked expression, he laughed. "Don't look so surprised, miss. It wasn't always like this, you know. The Ministry's gone corrupt from the inside, and they've taken St. Mungo's right down with them. Besides, I'm ready to retire. With all the sickles and knuts I've collected over the years, I think I've got enough."

Alanna grinned as the old man jangled his glass jar. "Well, I'll be sorry to see you go," she said honestly. "I really do mean to return here soon."

"You won't be as sorry as old Tom—that's the owner of this place. He'll be hard-pressed to find someone to take my place, especially on wages not fit for a busboy." The old man tipped his hat to her, his eyes sparkling wickedly. "Well, my shift is done, so I'll see you around, miss."

Alanna turned to go, shoving her hands in her coat pockets to brace herself for the autumn chill. There she brushed across some coins.

"Wait," she called, whirling back around. The piano man stopped and watched her drop two galleons into the glass jar, smiling his toothless grin. The metal jangled loudly on the glass, but nobody saw the coins fall except Alanna and the old man. Then she turned away quickly and walked towards the door.

**A/N: Alright, please let me know whether you like this story so far and how I can improve it by leaving a review. I appreciate the reviews that have been left on previous chapters very much! =]**


	6. Bid for Freedom

**Saviour, Chapter 6**

_**Bid for Freedom**_

_The small Hogsmeade street blazed with streaks of colored light. Men shouted in the throes of war and pain as wands glided effortlessly. All around them, shutters were slamming closed and doors were bolted shut. In the distance, a baby wailed._

_One of the Order members—a female, by the long blonde hair under her cloak hood—headed towards the forest in a painful limping hobble. Rabastan spotted her and picked up the pace, hot on her heels._

_"Oi, Lestrange!" a man shouted from behind. Rab slowed down, curious. The voice sounded oddly familiar, but it had matured since he had last heard it. "Stay the fuck away from McKinnon!"_

_Rabastan stopped and whipped around, peering through the trees. "Regulus, what the hell do you think you're doing out here?" he shouted through the brush behind him. "The blood traitor's none of your business. Get back to school!"_

_"Regulus?" The man let out a sharp, dry bark of a laugh, panting slightly from chasing Rabastan through the forest. "Lestrange, you've got the wrong man." Rabastan raised and readied his wand arm, his heart pounding in fury, as the bushes moved and Sirius Black stepped through._

_"Crucio!" he snapped, but Black jumped aside and the curse clipped through the thick brush._

_Black laughed again, grinding his feet into the autumn leaves. "Is that all you can do?" he taunted. "Well, there's nothing wrong with showing a little love. After all,"—and he bared his teeth in the moonlight—"we're cousins now."_

_"You'll never be family, Black. I'll take you down, and the other filthy blood traitor, too," Rabastan growled. He flicked his wand once more, but something animalistic had ignited in Black's eyes and the other man leaped towards Rabastan with frightening agility. Black had not shielded himself, but Rabastan scrambled backwards without a second thought to attacking him._

_"McKinnon was hurt, Lestrange." The blood traitor advanced on Rabastan. Beyond the trees they could hear the battle still raging. "What were you gonna follow her in here for, huh? Were you gonna kill her when she couldn't even fight?" _

_Black's lip curled in disgust and Rabastan was nearly blind with hatred. Black wasn't even worthy to lick the polish off his wand, yet here he was, bold as brass. "You were, weren't you?" Black sneered. "You were gonna do it, because that's what you lot do. Isn't it?"_

_"Crucio!" Rabastan shouted again, seething with offense. Black leaped away, whooping like an Indian or a very small child. _

_"You're a coward, Lestrange!" he called, lashing easily with his wand. Rabastan ducked as a jet of blue light whistled over his head. He tried to get his wand arm back up, but Black was too quick. He struck again and again, forcing Rabastan to turn around and run further into the forest._

_"Take that, you fucking coward!" Sirius Black roared once more. Rabastan cried out as a jet of pain slashed his left calf open. Without waiting to see if Black was really going to finish him off, he spun quickly on his good foot and Apparated back to Malfoy Manor, their rendezvous spot._

_Narcissa Black—only recently Narcissa Malfoy—paced the marble-tiled entrance hall of Malfoy Manor, wringing her hands anxiously. When Rabastan staggered in and crashed to the floor in front of her, his leg oozing blood, she cried out in surprise. A house elf standing nearby ran to fetch the Healer._

_"Merlin, Rab, who got you?"_

_"It's nothing, love," Rabastan forced out through gritted teeth, "only your darling cousin Sirius." Narcissa clicked her tongue and placed some cushions on the ground, then helped Rab to prop his bad leg up to slow the bleeding. "I'm fine, love, really." Rabastan grunted at her to stop fussing, but she settled herself down onto the floor next to him anyway. _

_"Don't be silly, Rab," Narcissa said firmly, handing him a goblet of cold water, followed by one of blood replenishing potion. "I've got to get you fixed up. You're bleeding all over my floors."_

_Rabastan hesitated before realizing that Narcissa was joking, her white teeth flashing brightly. He strained a smile in return and reached out to take her hand. "You're always looking out for me, Cissy," he said affectionately._

_Narcissa squeezed his hand, and with her other, pushed the damp hair away from his forehead. "Drink the potion," she ordered, rising to her knees and forcing the goblet close to his lips._

_Rabastan had nearly finished when the front door swung open with a loud bang and Lucius Malfoy strode in, the rest of the Death Eaters close behind. "Little Lestrange, you made it back," he remarked smoothly. "How…lucky Cissa was here to help you. We were worried. If we had lost you tonight, then you couldn't present your proposal at tomorrow's meeting."_

_"I'm fine!" Rabastan interjected roughly, batting her hands away as Narcissa began to fuss again. "I'm—I'm perfectly fine."_

_"Good to hear." Lucius raised his eyebrows. "We'll be going out to the pub in Knockturn Alley pretty soon to celebrate, if you'd care to join us." A hint of a smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. "Maybe you'll finally meet some women there." Rabastan managed a weak smile, avoiding his brother's questioning eyes._

_"No, you can't go out again in this condition," Narcissa argued. "I'll have the Healer fix you up, and then you can sleep in one of the guest rooms for the night. That's alright, isn't it, Lucius?"_

_Lucius shrugged his shoulders. He was already on his way back out the door. When it slammed shut behind him, Narcissa let out a sigh of relief. Then she patted Rab on the shoulder once more and left to prepare the guest bedroom._

* * *

When Rabastan returned from his trip the next day, he paused for a moment on the threshold of his still house. He slumped, grayer and more ashen-faced than that which seemed normal on a man of his youth. Desperately he wished for a hot meal and bath, but he knew that if he did not greet Alanna first, doubtless she would raise a fuss about it. She must have heard the door open, so there was no choice for Rabastan but to head to the sitting room to do his duty.

"Alanna?" he called into the silence. He shut the door behind him and hung up his hat, but there was no response from her. "Alanna, it's me!" It had been this way the last time, too. With a sigh, Rabastan pushed away strange worries that things were changing and began down the hall.

Alanna was waiting for him in the doorway to the large dining hall, half-concealed by the shadows of the cavernous room. Rabastan was so distracted that he would not have noticed her standing there had she not called out.

"I'd like to ask you something, Rab."

Rabastan started, every nerve underneath his skin jumping in surprise. He had had one too many close scrapes the night before and was not yet fully recovered from the stress. What in the world was Alanna doing, sneaking up on him when he was already on edge? She was the only person in his life that he could depend on to be perfectly honest—and even when she was not, he could still read her face like an open book.

Now there was unmistakable anger in her voice. Rabastan took a step towards her with a slightly uneasy smile. "Now, what have I done to deserve that sort of greeting from you, love?" he asked soothingly. "I thought we had this all sorted out before I left."

Alanna pursed her lips in an expression that Rabastan had barely ever seen on her before. Her light eyes, shining with a strange new energy beside her dark hair, contemplated him so thoroughly that he was disconcerted. Where had that energy come from? What new revelations had she found while he was gone? Things were changing—_she_ was changing—and Rabastan could feel the familiar anxiety begin to curdle his stomach.

"Do you still love me?" she asked clearly.

Rabastan blanched, something guilty flickering across his face. "What?"

Alanna didn't flinch. "I said, do you still love me?"

The start of a confused frown was beginning to build on Rabastan's brow, but no matter how closely he peered into Alanna's face there was no telling what she was thinking. Rather, the closer he got to her, the more it felt like _she_ was seeing _him _with higher clarity. Rabastan discovered that it was uncomfortable to be transparent before her. It was uncomfortable to be able to see nothing in return. He struggled to reach higher ground, stretched taut in his effort to cover both his worlds without snapping.

"I don't know why you would feel the need to ask such a question," he declared with more force than necessary. "You live in my house. And I'm here, with you, in my house. Isn't that an answer enough?"

Alanna didn't offer any reply for a moment. Then, slowly, she shook her head. "No, it's not. What's happened to you, Rabastan? You were never like this to me before. There's something horribly wrong with you."

Her precise, razor-sharp tone was slipping, the words tumbling out over each other in their haste to release themselves. They were too closely tied together to come out as crisp and composed as Alanna had wanted them to.

Rabastan ground his teeth, his fingers clenching and unclenching in irritation inside his coat pockets. Alanna was wasting his time with these stupid, dangerous questions just when he most urgently needed time alone to think more important things through. His home had been a haven, a guarantee of a secure place to return to without question—and so had Alanna. Here, his guards were down. He wasn't ready to be attacked and examined like this.

"Well, then your memory must fail you," he retorted shortly, making to go past her and towards the kitchens. She stood her ground, blocking the way with her small frame. They were almost nose to nose.

"No, it hasn't," Alanna persisted. "You know that I have a perfect memory. What's wrong? Why won't you tell me?"

Rabastan let out an aggravated sigh just as Alanna released a trembling one. Her face expressed nothing, but her limbs were shaking uncontrollably with energy. She couldn't wait for him to fabricate a proper response—he was moving too slowly. "Rab," she whispered, "don't you remember how much fun it was? I'm sure you do. Back when we were at Hogwarts?"

Rabastan began to protest, "Well, we're not at Hogwarts _now_, are we?", but Alanna plowed on, determined to reach him through his preoccupation. Her gaze grew fiercer.

"Because _I_ remember," she said. "You used to be such a gentleman. You never had anything but kindness for me."

"I still do," Rabastan muttered uncomfortably, focusing on something past Alanna's shoulder so that he wouldn't have to meet her gaze. Beyond the entrance to the kitchens, a small, squat shadow of a house elf darted quickly out of sight, but Rabastan was too exhausted even to care. Lestrange house elves had always been too nosy for their own good, but they knew the consequence of selling Lestrange secrets.

Alanna pursed her lips in anger. She refused to believe that Rabastan could not bring himself to concentrate on her. He just wasn't trying. "You never ignored me like you do now. You had never shut me out, even when we had a row. I loved you because I knew you cared for me, too. What happened to that?"

There was an alarmed moment of clarity, and suddenly he wrenched his entire attention in to focus on her.

"N-nothing happened!" Rabastan exclaimed harshly. "You expect too much, Alanna! I still _do_ care for you, but that was the past, don't you understand? I've grown up since then, and things are changing everywhere. I've seen them! You can't expect us all to carry on in same way like when we were still kids. It's time you learned that not everyone's going to mollycoddle you like I have been." He had returned from that dangerous world only minutes ago, and with the previous night's experiences fresh in his mind it was all the justification he needed to fervently believe he was telling the truth.

Rabastan gripped Alanna's shoulders, frightened and trying to change her back as he knew her. "Hasn't anyone ever told you that you can't repeat the past?" he asked roughly. "Once we've seen the present, we can't go back."

Alanna twisted away from him and frowned, all sorts of romantic specters drifting in front of her eyes. "What in the name of Merlin do you mean? Of course we can go back. Everything's still the same—we're both still here. All we have to do is try," she whispered with conviction.

"Don't be daft," Rabastan snapped frostily. "We're not kids anymore. I have real problems and real responsibilities to take care of. You certainly wouldn't know anything about that." He spun around impatiently and headed back down the hall towards the living room, calling to the house elves to bring him something to eat.

Alanna trailed after him uncertainly, her thoughts roaring in her ears. Suddenly the tables had turned again and the advantage that she had wielded over Rabastan was gone. Rabastan was turning his back on her and walking away with no more a sliver of conscience than a criminal. The back of his coat drifted in and out of focus as she blinked back tears. With sickening force, Alanna's mind again fluttered to the black pin, and she knew that her deteriorating relationship with Rabastan could not be a coincidence.

A house elf scuttled by her with a tray, brushing the hem of her skirt. The tiny elf peered up at Alanna with curious, watery eyes and suddenly Alanna felt ashamed. House elves—nothing short of unconditional devotion and servitude—were pitiful creatures. Unlike them, she owned her own mind and her pride, and she was going to get through to him.

Ahead, he stormed into the living room and threw himself down into the largest, most comfortable armchair—the one in which he had often read books at night years ago. Alanna remembered thinking that the books had been strange for him, stories of Grindelwald and other violent and glorious social revolutions. Yet Rab never seemed to be affected by them emotionally. She could only assume that his upbringing had removed him so far from suffering that he couldn't possibly relate—but this was not so with her. At any rate, he had not read in a long, long time and the chair had stayed mostly empty until now.

Alanna stumbled as she crossed over the threshold into the living room after him, her hair flying over her eyes. Rabastan was surprised—he had not expected her to follow—but did not move to help her, regarding her coldly like a king from his seat.

There was a painful pause in which Alanna righted her twisted skirt, her heart pounding against her chest. She was frightened. She had never persisted this far against Rabastan without relenting completely. But the discovery of that black pin—that lover's token—had lit an insatiable desire in her heart, for which she could muster the courage and concentration that she had always lacked in other tasks. She was determined to find a remedy to the situation, and bring things between them back to the way they had been at Hogwarts, before his work and family had derailed them.

Alanna collected herself and prepared to speak again.

"I know I'm not perfect, love, but you didn't care back then. We had so much fun." She appealed to the stone figure in the chair. "Remember that day by the lake—or when we camped behind the big couch in the common room? We had so much fun," she said again, desperate for him to remember and want it like she did.

The words that threatened to bubble recklessly from Rabastan's tongue were too dangerous. He only barely suppressed them.

A sob hovered in Alanna's chest when she saw that Rabastan had no reply. "Let's go to France," she whispered desperately to the carpet. "Remember that? We were going to get a little blue house by the sea. That's what we need, Rab. The little blue house and the sky and the water."

Still he stared, his lips quivering with suppressed mirth. His face was so terrible she couldn't look anywhere else. "Merlin, Rab, I can't stay in this house any longer!" Alanna cried, clenching her skirt. "We need to go—London is ruining you! We have to go, now. We should go to France."

Rabastan's laugh cut cruelly through the air with a crack. "You're a child," he sneered, unable to control his disdain any longer. His temper burned the coldest at its pinnacle. "You know nothing of the world."

"Let's go, let's go," Alanna urged again, wringing her hands violently. "I—I can't stay in this house, Rabastan! I have to leave. There's a little blue house on the beach. Please, let's go there."

He saw now, more than ever, that compared to the world outside of this house—and compared to the women he knew there—Alanna was nothing. Recklessly he thought that there were far worse things than to break an innocent heart, far more important things than to protect one, and he had seen them done. "We never had a house in France."

Alanna had barely heard him speak, her breath rattled so loudly. "I know, but we can do this, Rab, it's so easy," she pleaded. "If only you would just try." She braved a glance at him. His face looked so pale and drawn with fear and exhaustion that she almost relented, but she had gone so far already. There was no point in returning when she could already see her success. "You—you _will_ try, won't you?"

Rabastan grunted. "I have a lot of work to do, Alanna. Don't waste my time with this drivel."

Alanna shook her head, staring at the clock on the mantel and imagining its _tick, tick_ in the silent house. The tears that burned in her eyes glittered defiantly, refusing to drop. "Don't patronize me," Alanna forced out through gritted teeth. "If you don't love me, Rabastan Lestrange, say it aloud. Just say it!"

Rabastan gaped as something clicked. He and Alanna had been teetering in an explosive balance for years, forever driven to the edge. Finally he realized what small impurity had wormed its way in, had changed everything.

"I hope this isn't still because of what happened with Bella," he warned, his eyebrows drawing together into a fierce expression. "I've already apologized time and time again for her. Just let it go."

"You have done nothing to defend yourself against her claims," Alanna proclaimed.

"How can I?" he asked bitterly, pity flowing into his eyes without softening the disdain glittering in them. "She is Bellatrix Black—actually, she's Bellatrix _Lestrange_. If you have a problem with her, don't blame me for it!"

Alanna recoiled—of everything he had said tonight, this was the closing curtain. He had all but shouted the truth in her face, and it was too much of an insult to bear. She whirled around and left the living room, leaving Rabastan alone to sit in the big armchair with his tray of cold food.

* * *

**A/N: Hi, all. I hope the wait hasn't been too long. Thanks to those who reviewed, as always. They mean so much to me.**

**This chapter has NOT been put up on HPFF yet, so this is its first run and your opinions are very important. What did you think of it? Please let me know. :)**


	7. Sonata No 4

**Saviour Chapter 7-Sonata No. 4**

Alanna awoke the next morning with a cold sweat filming her forehead, her heart pounding with fear. She lay in bed for nearly half the morning looking up at the ceiling, but she couldn't draw up the energy to rise.

Her dreams had been riddled with mystery men, all dark-haired and handsome like her Rabastan, but where their faces should have been there was only a white expanse.

She shivered at the memory of the chilling image. Who had Rabastan Lestrange become anyway? The change in him was palpable, but Rabastan became wary, even defensive, whenever she brought it up. Last night had been the worst confrontation between them yet. She had known she would provoke him, but Alanna could not help herself. She felt that their relationship—and their life together—could never advance anywhere if she did not do _something_. And she was losing patience; she had waited so long for him already that she was beginning to suspect that Rabastan's intentions were altogether different from her own.

What if he had never intended to marry her? What if he indeed expected Alanna to live like this for the rest of their lives?

This was a thorn that had been driven into her heart repeatedly, many times by her own thoughts, but it had never once been as painful as when inflicted under the hand of Bellatrix Lestrange.

Her hands clenched into fists, clutching onto her comforter, at the very thought of the name. Drawn away from underneath her oppressive presence, Alanna was free to harbor as much anger towards the other woman as she would. But all of it meant nothing, because once Alanna came to face her directly, Alanna knew she would be helpless to defend herself once more.

Rolling over onto the cold, unoccupied side of the bed, Alanna knew at once that Rabastan had not joined her to sleep the night before. This was common enough of an occurrence that Alanna usually thought nothing of it, but after last night this was different. Her mind raced. Had their row been so irreconcilable that he couldn't even bear to lie next to her?

And what of the pin—still unexplained. What was Alanna to make of that?

_Had he left her for good?_

With a growing sense of urgency, Alanna strained her ears to listen. But from the utter silence in the house, it seemed that Rabastan was gone once again. The only noise she could hear was the faint tinkering of the house elves in the downstairs kitchen, a sound so familiar to her by now that she could immediately identify it from the alien ones which were Rabastan's deep voice and heavy footsteps. A wave of loneliness swept over her as she realized that she was beginning to think of Rabastan as a stranger in whose house she lived. This wasn't how the bond that connected them had meant for them to live. They were together, but it felt forced.

Alanna shoved at the heavy blankets, fuming and kicking them off of her legs like a child in a temper. Rabastan was her anchor, and she needed him. He could manage and tame her mind like none other. After yesterday's row Alanna assumed that he would not be leaving again for at least a few weeks. If he cared, he would stay.

All of a sudden, she remembered the pity of the house elf that had passed her in the hall last night. Disgusted with herself, she swiped away the tears that trickled down her cheeks. It was useless to dwell and wonder.

Shoving the bitter disappointment back in her throat, she rose out of bed to meet the prospect of another day without Rabastan. She was determined that she would find some way to survive.

As Alanna padded down the stairs, headed for the kitchen, she passed an open door on the second floor landing which filled her heart with curiosity. The argument of the previous night, coupled with her disquieting dreams, made Alanna feel an itching impatience for herself and her unchanging routine. She craved something new, an escape to take her mind off of her troubles. And all her life she had known but only one place to find such a thing—but four years ago she had exchanged it for Rabastan Lestrange.

Fleetingly she thought that it could even be for the better that Rab had left her alone once more. She had a secret from him, buried deep in the drawing room.

* * *

_Rabastan charged up the marble steps and shoved the great wooden doors open unceremoniously. He raced into the room, the unnatural darkness flooding his vision for a long, dreadful moment before he regained sight. A gasp of apologetic explanation hovered on the tip of his tongue. "I was—up all night…I took a—a walk—"_

_"You're late, Lestrange," the Dark Lord interrupted coldly. He gestured to an empty seat at the long table and motioned for Rosier to continue speaking. _

_"My source is credible, my Lord," Rosier said with a smug smile. "The Mudblood Lily Evans is indeed with child—and of course it is no doubt Potter's. She must be far along, the way that Black was carrying on about it, drunk off his arse in Diagon Alley in the middle of the night—"_

_"He was celebratin' with the werewolf," Adrian Inglish drawled, eliciting several laughs from around the table._

_"Celebrating so ardently the night after our encounter at Hogsmeade?" Lucius Malfoy asked. He smiled coldly. "Apparently Black and Lupin have not learned their lesson." _

_Rosier smirked. "My Lord, with a tongue as loose as Black's, it will be easy to find a way to circumvent the Fidelus Charm on the Potters. I say we go after them first."_

_"We have no indication that Black is indeed their Secret-Keeper," the Dark Lord mused. "After all, Potter is of a good breed. His family is not daft. To choose Black as their Secret-Keeper would make it all too easy for us to find them. No, their Secret-Keeper must be someone improbable—more improbable than the werewolf, and less improbable than Pettigrew."_

_Rabastan rose to his feet, his heart pounding. For years he had kept nearly silent at these meetings, speaking only when spoken to and saying nothing that was not pre-rehearsed in his mind time and time again, just in case. This proposal was no different—it was meticulously prepared—but everything was riding on it. "If I may speak, my Lord?" _

_Lord Voldemort acknowledged Rab with a short nod. _

_"We have also recently received confirmation that Alice Prewett Longbottom gave birth at St. Mungo's a fortnight ago to a male child. Given the circumstances that surround her and the father, Frank Longbottom, it is more likely that the Longbottom child is the child that my Lord is seeking, not the Potter child."_

_"And how do you figure that, Lestrange?" Rosier challenged, halfway rising out of his chair. Only a warning look from Lucius Malfoy stayed him from speaking further without the Dark Lord's permission._

_Rabastan hesitated, eyeing the friendly and unfriendly faces at the table that surrounded him. He had known this would happen, of course—it happened every time the Dark Lord needed to make a crucial decision. The possible courses of action would split the group into halves and thirds, and they battled it out until their Lord was sufficiently convinced one way or the other. Heading a successful mission heralded the Dark Lord's favor, but whoever had proposed an unsuccessful one was less lucky. To set himself up for such failure was undeniably dangerous, but Rabastan knew that if he never stepped up and took charge, he would be left forever out of his Lord's innermost circle._

_"Both fathers—James Potter and Frank Longbottom—are of pureblood heritage," Rabastan said, training his eyes on Rosier. He spoke slowly, as if Rosier was a child who did not understanding easily. "Alice Longbottom is also a pureblood. But the mother of the Potter child, Lily Potter, is a Mudblood."_

_"I assure you, my Lord, that I am well aware of this fact, as is everyone else in this room," Rosier snarled. "This is unnecessary, Lestrange."_

_"But the child we seek to eliminate, my Lord," Rabastan insisted, his voice growing louder, "is the one who poses a problem to us. Who is more likely to be the more powerful—the pureblood child, or the half-blood?"_

_"The Potters were Head Boy and Girl," Rosier said with less conviction. He had only just realized that he would be advocating the half-blood child's potential magical abilities against the pureblood one. "They could not have been chosen unless they demonstrated—"_

_"Headmaster Dumbledore is daft!" Rabastan interrupted triumphantly. The Dark Lord despised Albus Dumbledore. "He evidently chooses his Head Boys and Girls, not on ambition and magical ability, but on popularity." He spat the last words out with disdain._

_Several men that sat beside Lucius Malfoy began to look thoughtful. Malfoy's own expression remained stony as he regarded Rabastan._

_"Pure blood James Potter may have," Rabastan continued, "but he has none of the other defining qualities of good breeding. Look at the friends that he chooses to keep, the wife that he chooses to take. He is currently unemployed. He has made no effort to contact us, and in fact, has rebuffed all of our past invitations."_

_"Frank Longbottom is no better," Rosier countered. "He is employed at the Ministry of Magic, of all the daft places. He keeps company with a number of half-bloods and his wife comes from a family of blood traitors. He has also chosen to ignore our offers of initiation."_

_Rabastan no longer addressed only Rosier. He could feel the men around him shifting. "If you claim that the fathers are of equal standing then let us look at the mothers. The Prewetts are blood traitors, but purebloods nonetheless. Alice Longbottom comes from a branch that is not as corrupted as the Prewett-Black and Mulciber-Prewett lines." Rabastan held his breath for an outburst, but the Mulciber seated before him only grumbled softly to himself about his wayward second great-cousin. "Lily Potter, on the other hand, has no known magical relatives. It seems that her entire living family is Muggle."_

_"My Lord, that means little," Rosier protested. "The circumstances that surround each child are of the utmost importance, and must be considered above their parentage."_

_Lord Voldemort raised a hand for silence. Rabastan took a seat immediately and Rosier followed grudgingly a moment after._

_"The information has been presented," the Dark Lord said. "I will not make my decision until I see where all of you stand." With trepidation, Rabastan saw Malfoy smile at their Lord and nod his head. Voldemort looked first to Rabastan and then to Rosier. "I will see how convincing you can be," he told them._

_Then he dismissed them all with a wave of his hand._

* * *

House elves dusted down the drawing room twice every week. The untouched ivory and wood was as spotless as the rest of the house.

The heavy curtains were closed —Alanna drew them open to admit weak autumn sunshine through the window into the room. Slowly she walked around the large instrument twice, remembering the way it sounded under her fingers, before sitting down at the keys. Her memory raced through various colorful melodies, but after so much time Alanna wanted to start small.

She closed her eyes and let her fingers rest lightly against the keys, moving wherever they chose. The notes, tiny and tentative at first, began to appear in her mind. Erratic sounds flew together into a simple, gliding melody that made Alanna's heart jump. She recognized it immediately; it was something she had made at age nine, shortly after she had found the abandoned old piano in the back room of the orphanage. It was the fourth time she had ever felt the need to play.

_Alanna didn't realize that she still clutched the soggy clump of coarse napkins in her fist until she had reached her piano room. Tossing them onto the floor in the corner with a splat, she sat down on the bench. Dried tears cracked on her cheeks and dried oatmeal cracked in a stain on her too-large dress as she began to play, pressing random notes to a pattern in her head. Sometimes she was wrong, but she always felt it and tried her best to fix herself. More often, though, the sounds that came out from the piano sounded just right._

_Her stomach growled. She was hungry. James, one of the bigger kids, had accidentally backed into her as she was stepping out of the food line, and her bowl of pottage had spilled all down her front. He had apologized well enough, but it was no use. Now she would have nothing to eat until lunchtime tomorrow._

_The music pounded through her empty belly in an angry swarm of notes. Her head swam._

_"Lana?" Alanna didn't turn. She didn't stop playing, either. She knew who it was—Polly, the six-year-old who followed her around and always asked too many questions. "Lana, can I please stay?"_

_She was dizzy. Alanna's fingers slipped off of the keys with a dissonant crash and she turned around. Polly had never asked her permission to stay before. Then again, Polly had never caught her playing the instrument buried in the back room of the orphanage before._

_"I heard the music," Polly explained. "It's pretty."_

_The little girl carried in her hand a half-eaten bowl of pottage, and the two pockets of her dress bulged with pilfered rolls. "Give me your pottage," Alanna ordered. "And one roll. Then I'll let you stay with me."_

_Polly handed the food over and Alanna took it and ate it without a word. Then she wiped her hands on her knees and began to play again, little cascading waterfalls of music. The swell of the notes grew higher and louder each time before tumbling back down until Polly was laughing and clapping her hands and Alanna's eyes were shining._

_"Where did you learn to play so good?" Polly asked when the notes had become softer again._

_Alanna used two fingers to press two notes with one hand at the same time. Then she tried three. It sounded different, but still pretty good. "I dunno," she said. "I teach myself, I guess. I come and play here whenever I feel bad."_

_"Why?" Polly reached out to press a key, but Alanna batted her hand away._

_"Because," Alanna replied, the food in her belly warming her, "it makes me feel better."_

The chords pounded to a close. Alanna was shaking. Her limbs trembled and quaked as if she had just run a long way or lifted a huge load. She rested her elbows gently on the keys and buried her face in her hands. She should have been surprised that she could still remember what it felt like, but she was not.

"It makes me feel better," she mumbled to herself again and again.

Alanna didn't notice when a small house elf named Pinky peered curiously around the door. The house elves had heard the strange music in the kitchen, but Pinky was the only one who had dared come upstairs to investigate.

Pinky smiled softly at her mistress before pulling her head out of the doorway again and toddling back to report to the others.

When Alanna had gathered the strength to look up again, she noticed for the first time a small picture frame of a young man hanging on the wall behind the piano. Alanna rose to her feet carefully and approached it. The daguerreotype portrait itself was old and yellowed behind the spotless glass of the new frame, and at the very bottom in small letters, Alanna read, "John D. Lestrange, 1854."

The man inside looked so much like Rabastan that Alanna froze for a moment in front of him, cold guilt coursing through her blood. She knew she would not be able to sit down again and play with John D. Lestrange watching her.

She turned to the piano, ready to lay the cover down forever.

Instead, she turned back to the portrait, reached out an arm, and took John D. Lestrange off of the wall. "I'm moving you to another room," she told him. Then she had another idea. Setting the picture frame down gently on a table near the front hall, she grabbed her cloak and set out the front door.

* * *

When Rabastan returned home later that day, Alanna was not in the sitting room at her usual spot. The wireless sat, silent, on the table.

"Alanna, dear, where are you?" Rabastan called as he walked through the rooms, crossing the house, headed for the kitchen. Panic rose again as he thought of the argument that they had had the previous night. Had he finally gone too far? Had his reckless jibe about Bellatrix finally been insult enough to drive Alanna into the arms of the Ministry? It had slipped out of his lips before he could bite his tongue, and now he sorely regretted it.

"Where is she?" he demanded harshly as he came upon several house elves chopping and preparing food for supper. Alanna was nowhere to be seen.

"Pinky does not know who you are asking for, Master," the one standing nearest to him squeaked in terror. Her cheeks, indeed, were pink from heat, and were made no better by the steam that rose in billows from the pot of soup on the stove.

Rabastan glowered at the young house elf. "The mistress," he snapped. "Where is she?" It felt strange to speak the words off of his tongue, to call Alanna the mistress of his household. He had never really thought of her as such, yet she held the position here all the same. His house would have fallen into sad disrepair, had Alanna not been here to preside as mistress over its daily routines.

"The mistress," Pinky whispered, avoiding Rabastan's eyes in terrified defiance. "Pinky is sorry, Master, but she does not know."

The sense of desperation peaked within him as horror crept up his throat. Where was Alanna? He could not have her wandering about the world as she wished! Rabastan slammed a fist down onto the counter, making several of the house elves in the kitchen jump. One nearly spilled a jug of milk onto the ground.

"How do you not know where your mistress is?" he roared, stalking over to the side door that opened onto the large backyard. One hurried sweep of the land behind the house showed no sign of the woman. "One of you must have heard her leave!"

Suddenly a sob sounded in the darkest, furthermost corner of the kitchen. Rabastan whirled around towards the noise and peered at a small form cowering, half-hidden by the shadows and the shelter of its own trailing beard. Rabastan fought the urge to laugh despite his urgent situation. "Gimpy?" he asked incredulously. "Are you _crying_?"

Gimpy had served the Lestranges since Rabastan's birth, if not before. When he came of age, his father had given him to Rabastan as a house-warming gift, an elf to serve him in his own household. Now the house elf was elderly, even by elf-standards, and he headed the rest of the elves in Rabastan's home like a general most loyal to his prince. But Rabastan could see upon second glance, in the glowingly honest orbs that he had come to know, a tint of guilt. Rabastan swallowed the fear that perhaps his oldest servant had developed a stronger loyalty to his mistress than that which he reserved for his often-absent master.

"Well?" he asked softly, walking over to where Gimpy sat, his knobbly knees drawn stiffly to his thin chest. His long beard draped over his legs.

"Gimpy!" cried Pinky the house elf, hurrying over to hover behind Rabastan. "Do not cry, Gimpy! What did Pinky tell you? Do not cry!" She rang her little hands nervously, but Rabastan didn't spare her even a glance.

The older house elf seemed to pay the younger one no mind. "Gimpy is sorry, Master!" the elderly elf cried, shaking with heavy sobs. "Gimpy did not know that Master would need Mistress when Master came home! Gimpy saw her go! Gimpy saw Mistress go out the door and Gimpy did not stop her!"

Rabastan groaned inwardly. He did not want to take the time to soothe this house elf from his hysterics, but there was no other way. Crouching down in an awkward and somewhat painful position, he patted the old elf on his shoulder and rubbed his ears. Almost immediately, Gimpy ceased his sobbing and looked up at Rabastan's face with tearful reverence. He would have promptly thrown his arms around his master had Rabastan not risen hurriedly and stepped away.

"Did she say where she was going?" Rabastan asked gently.

Gimpy moaned in despair, hanging his wrinkled head once more. "Gimpy did not ask, Master," he whispered. "Mistress did not even take her tea. She only found her cloak and left."

Rabastan raised his eyebrows. "Her cloak? Only her cloak and nothing else?"

"Nothing else, Master, nothing." Gimpy pulled at his long beard, tears of pure anguish springing from his eyes. He smoothed the sheet that covered his body, using the corner of the cloth to mop his face.

A portion of the weight lifted off of Rabastan's chest. Perhaps she had taken his advice and contacted a few of her friends. Perhaps they were only going to shop in Diagon Alley and catch up, nothing more. It was simply an innocent trip that he was blowing out of proportion because Alanna rarely went out, and he had gotten used to always having her under his eye.

But there was one last thing to make certain. "And what was Mistress doing before she left, Gimpy?"

The old house elf sniffed, but before he could answer, Pinky bustled in once more and dropped to her knees before the other elf. "Remember, Gimpy cannot cry! Mistress would not want Gimpy to cry!" she wailed, seizing the other elf's hands in her own and squeezing them tightly.

Her small nails dug in a vice-like grip on Gimpy's palms, and at once the elderly house elf seemed to gather his wits about him. "Nothing, Master," he whispered through gritted teeth, and for once he could not look Rabastan in the eye.

All at once Rabastan felt a wave of revulsion overcome him, and he could not stand to stay another moment in the company of the pathetic creatures. "Very well," he said tersely. He ran a hand through his hair in agitation before leaving the kitchen.

**A/N: I know it's been a rather long wait, but I hope you all still enjoyed this chapter. If you dropped me a teeny bit of feedback, I'd really appreciate it. :) Thanks, all!**


	8. Malina

Saviour, Chapter 8

_**Malina**_

The piano man was not there when she arrived at the Leaky Cauldron.

Alanna could feel the difference as soon as she walked through the door. The music's comforting presence was missing and there was nothing to alleviate the autumn chill from her bones. Looking around in a daze, Alanna wandered over to a small room near the stairs that led up to the lodging rooms. A dirty placard hung on the door:

_Tom, manager_

Slowly Alanna raised her fist to knock. The door was yanked open before she could get a third knock in, and she found herself face-to-face with a friendly-looking old wizard with kind, wrinkled eyes.

"Tom?" she asked, suddenly feeling shy and unsure.

"Yes. How can I help you?"

"Well, I…" Alanna started. "I was only wondering what happened to the piano man. Where did he go?"

Tom blinked at her. "You mean Pierre? The old man who used to play for us during the day? I'm sorry, dear, but he isn't coming back. He told me he's taking a permanent leave of absence—I think the cold winters have finally gotten to him."

"Oh." Alanna pressed her lips together to keep them from quivering in disappointment. "I mean—it's alright, I was only asking because I play piano also, and I was wondering if maybe you could tell me where I might find him so I can…"

She trailed off in embarrassment, staring at Tom's shoes. The old wizard's expression softened as he saw the girl's fingers tapping reflexively against her jacket pockets, as Alanna did whenever she was agitated. Rabastan had commented on the habit only once before Alanna knew that she had to hide it from him, so whenever he was around she would always try to block her hands from view.

"I'll tell you what," Tom said, opening the door wider and motioning for Alanna to step inside his small office. She took a seat in the deep purple armchair situated opposite his desk. "I can't say I know where you'll find Pierre, but if you're willing I'd like you to take his place."

Alanna swallowed, her voice suddenly gone. Taking the old piano man's place would mean that she would have to play. She would have to play every day—in front of a crowd of people in the restaurant, in front of an _audience_.

In all her years, she had never wanted an audience. She could not even feel comfortable playing for John D. Lestrange.

She coughed to clear her throat. Her hands clenched together in her lap to keep from trembling. "I don't think so," she rasped, ignoring her sinking heart as she saw the old wizard's expression drop into disappointment. "I—I can't."

Tom shook his head. "Don't worry. I understand if you already have employment elsewhere."

"I don't," Alanna said quickly, then bit down on her lip to keep from saying anything else. She didn't know why she'd said that to him—it didn't matter whether she had a job elsewhere or not, because she was not taking this one.

"I only asked because the business has not been doing well lately, and if I don't keep up the effort to make this place as nice as it can be, I might have to shut it down altogether," the old wizard said, smiling sadly.

"But why is business not doing well?" Alanna asked. "Your food is wonderful."

"The world is getting darker these days, my dear. People are not as carefree as they used to be. They tend not to venture out and spend their money on good food and drink when they are afraid that their neighborhoods may be attacked and their families hurt." Alanna looked shocked, and Tom squinted at her in dry amusement. "You don't read much news, do you, my dear?"

Alanna shrugged off the question, abashed that her ignorance of the world outside the Lestrange home was so apparent. "I read when I can," she settled for replying. "I'm sorry about your business. This really is a nice place. Is there anything I can do to help?" She reached into her jacket pocket. "I don't mind contributing—"

Tom smiled widely at her, revealing a few gaps in his teeth. He was growing to like this strange young woman, but it was clear to him that she was lost. No job and completely oblivious to the dark forces gathering around her—the world was too dangerous for a girl like her.

"The only thing you can do to help is go out there and play for a few minutes," he told her kindly. "Just try it out and see how you like it. It's what Pierre would've advised you to do. And I'm sure you'll do fine."

Alanna shook her head, panic rising in her throat. "I'll go home and get the key to my Gringotts vault—"

"I won't accept any money from you," Tom said firmly.

_Tap, tap, tap. Tap, tap, tap. _Alanna's fingers fluttered on her kneecaps at an alarming speed. She wanted to try it—oh, she wanted to try. The warmth of blue music was no longer a misty memory hidden beyond her years with Rabastan. She had heard it and felt it not an hour ago and she was still trembling from its effect and the cold autumn wind. In this state her agitated nerves would not rest, but the stone-cold barrier of four years had been broken only that morning and she was scared that she had gone too far.

"No, I can't," she murmured, rising from her seat and turning to go. "I'm sorry, Tom, I'm sorry but I can't…"

The old wizard watched as the strange young woman yanked open the door to his office and stumbled outside into the bar area. Her steps toward the main door that led outside were slow and halting, unsure. Every few strides she would hesitate and cast a sidelong glance towards the mahogany instrument on the dais at the back of the room. Tom watched her jerky movements with a smile. She could not help herself.

Alanna was halfway to the door before she turned back around and met the old wizard's kindly eyes. In that instant, she saw something of her father in him and her resolve crumpled to her feet in a heap like shed skin. She took a seat at the bar, newly exposed, her arms quivering. She buried her face in her hands. Tom crossed the room to stand next to her again.

"I'll need to practice," she said to Tom, pointing at a bottle on the shelves behind the bar when the bartender came over to ask what she wanted. She didn't know what kind of liquor it was, but on the label there was a silhouette of a man and a woman walking together and Alanna liked it.

Tom chuckled. "Oh, you don't want to drink that, dear. That is not for the faint of heart."

Alanna shrugged, then gestured toward the deep red drink she had ordered the last time. She clenched her hands into fists underneath the bar top. "I'll need to practice before I can play," she repeated, but the old wizard did not seem concerned at all.

"Practice away," Tom said, extending an arm out towards the piano. "Your drinks are on me today—and always, if you decide to take the job."

"No, no, I don't mean…" Alanna trailed off. Why _couldn't_ she practice here? At the Lestrange house there would be a constant danger of Rabastan returning home, and the house was empty and cold with no company but the house elves. Here, among the chatter of patrons and the clink of glass—even the dimmed lights and worn upholstery—everything was all the opposite of the frigid old house.

She looked back at Tom, who was watching her and grinning ear-to-ear. Maybe she had even made a new friend.

The bartender set her drink down in front of her. Alanna took a sip for strength and courage and, holding tightly onto the glass, approached the dais.

* * *

It was late in the afternoon when she returned home to find Rabastan sitting alone, pale and anxious, at the dining room table.

His head snapped up as she entered the room. His dark gaze examined her cheeks flushed pink and her eyes sparkling. Pushing aside his questions in favor of a more immediate concern, he told her, "I am expecting a guest for dinner tonight."

"What?" Alanna exclaimed, startled from her warm daze. The house was so cold in comparison. "How many people are coming?"

She glanced at the clock through the doorway. It was nearly six o'clock and she had not even instructed the house elves on what to cook for supper before she left. There would be nothing to eat. With fleeting disgust, she thought that perhaps Rabastan meant to humiliate her in front of his friends with this ploy in retaliation for their argument.

There was a slight sneer on his face. "I would have given you much more notice, but you were nowhere to be found when I got home. However, I took the liberty of planning out the meal myself. There is only one guest joining us tonight, but she is an important one."

_She, indeed._ Alanna's heart rose into her throat in anger, and she clasped her hands behind her back to still them. She would not give him the satisfaction of seeing that the way Rabastan spoke of the guest irked her.

"That's perfectly fine," she replied calmly, moving past him toward the stairs. "I'll go change into more proper attire, then."

But before she could take another step, the doorbell chimed loudly and Rabastan announced in a smug voice, "There she is, love. Will you go welcome her in while I check on the house elves?" She turned to comply, but he did not get up from the table. He watched Alanna's retreating back as she left, his eyes narrowed in thought. Something unsettling was happening to her, and he didn't like it.

Rabastan adjusted the silverware in front of him. Oh, well, he thought. It was no important matter. Alanna was only in another one of her moods. Tonight's dinner would surely straighten her out.

Alanna led their guest back into the dining room, where a house elf was setting out the plates and silverware for three places. Rabastan would sit at the head of the long table, with each of the women flanking his sides.

Rabastan smiled sincerely as the two women entered—Alanna was now wearing her usual nervous, uncertain expression again, all of the pink flush gone from her cheeks. The woman who followed her was dark-haired and pale like Alanna, but that was where the resemblance ended. Malina Zabini, the wife of weapons-master Gabon Zabini, held her head erect like a queen. Her eyebrows arched lightly above smoldering brown eyes and the corners of her lips twitched in perpetual disdain. She took long, swinging strides with grace and confidence, like a woman who was always obeyed. Next to her, Alanna's shuffling gait was mouse-like, but far from feeling ashamed of this Rabastan felt a savage delight in noting the comparison. He realized that though Malina couldn't be more than a few years older than Alanna, it was her regality which gave the impression that she was much more adult than the other.

"Malina, this is Alanna Lancaster," Rabastan said cheerfully, rising from his seat to greet the woman. She grasped his hand warmly, and then to Alanna's chagrin, kissed him on both cheeks. Her lips seemed to linger over his skin, but the moment was over instantaneously and Alanna couldn't be sure afterwards that she had not only imagined it. Then Rabastan turned to her, his smile smug. "Alanna, meet Malina Zabini. She is a…friend from the organization that I work for."

Alanna afforded the beautiful woman a tense smile as they took their seats. "How nice," she said. The house elves trailed out from the kitchen, bearing small bowls of soup and platters of appetizers. "So, what is it that you do there?"

"Oh, Rabastan gives me too much credit," Malina said. She tossed a hand out and smiled with seeming carelessness, but somehow Alanna felt that even the tiniest of this woman's movements was painstakingly measured and planned.

Unsurprisingly, her speech was no less precise. It was not until later, when the conversation had slipped out of reach altogether, that Alanna realized the other woman had managed to escape her questions without really answering.

"The work I do," Malina continued now, "it is more social than anything. I help my husband with his affairs, hosting networking events for him and such other things." She watched Alanna's discomfort curiously even as she laughed. "As you undoubtedly know, these men would be hopelessly inept at hosting social events if it were not for us women."

The other woman's scrutiny did not escape Alanna's notice. Avoiding Rabastan's warning glances, Alanna replied airily, "Actually, Rabastan is so inept that we have given up even trying. I don't think we've thrown a party in…oh, how long has it been, dear?" She addressed an unsuspecting Rabastan and smiled, showing teeth.

The two women turned expectantly to Rab, who hid his face in his soup bowl. He sipped for a few moments, then swallowed with an audible gulp. "I can't remember," he said finally, his voice faint. "It has been a long time, to be certain."

"Well, you should consider it," Malina told him, her face dark and her tone suddenly serious. "Especially in your current situation. It is an important tool—a crucial weapon—that too often goes unused and forgotten by those who most need its aid. And I hope you realize that you will need every edge you can get in the coming battle, Rabastan."

"Malina, please," he warned, looking strained. "Let's not talk about our affairs here. We needn't worry Alanna."

The Zabini woman's responding gaze was now both questioning and desperate. Her elegant eyebrows furrowed as she glanced between Rabastan and Alanna. Then she blinked, and the concern that clouded her eyes was gone. She was smiling again. "Well, then, let us talk of something lighter. The food is wonderful." She nodded at Alanna. "Do you cook?"

Alanna flushed and shook her head, confused. After taking a meal with Bellatrix Lestrange and her poorly concealed malice, this woman Malina was nearly inscrutable. "No, we have several house elves that do our cooking and cleaning."

"Ah, of course," Malina said, changing the subject with grace. "You know, there are those who argue that the enslavement of house elves is inhumane and unjust. However, the practice has been around for so long that freedom is nearly inconceivable to the creatures. Even if the Ministry were to free them legally, they would undoubtedly return to serve their old masters because they know of nothing else."

Rabastan shrugged in disinterest as he chewed. As long as the conversation took no more dangerous turns, he was free to let his mind wander. Now that Malina realized beyond a doubt that Alanna was the reason he was not free to speak in his own house, there would be no more confusion. After all, he had requested that Malina come here as a dinner guest for one reason - to remind Alanna of her place.

There were certain types of women that belonged out in the world, that could fend for themselves and _act_ for themselves. There were women like Malina Zabini, who were deserving of Rabastan's friendship and confidence. And there were others…who simply didn't.

"…so the election of the new Head of MLE next year will be quite a spectacle, I expect. With the Department of Magical Games and Sports publicly shamed due to that mermaid scandal and the Office of the Improper Use of Magic in chaos from Campbell's resignation, the Ministry doesn't seem to know left from right these days."

Alanna nodded vaguely. Her appetite was spoiled by the sound of Malina Zabini's careful, cultured voice speaking so quietly and easily about things that she could barely follow from the snatches of news that she heard in between programs on the wireless. A weak draft that issued through the room raised goosebumps on her neck and shoulders, and Alanna wished for nothing more than to be back in the Leaky Cauldron, where it was warm and dim and colorful.

She cut her slice of roast into little pieces, but could not bring herself to eat much. To her left, Rabastan was wolfing down his meal like he had not eaten in days. The sly smiles that Malina shot him made Alanna sick to her stomach. She rose to her feet and excused herself.

She exited the dining room, crossed the hall, and entered the washroom. She closed the door until only a tiny sliver of space remained, then turned on the sink and ran cool water over her trembling hands. After a few seconds, she could hear the low rumble of Rabastan's voice over the running water. The sink emitted a small squeak as she turned the knob closed. Then she pressed herself up to the crack in the door to listen.

"Please, I insist, keep your voice down," he was begging.

"You are _not_ in a position to refuse to listen to me, Rabastan," Malina retorted. "You know how urgent your current situation is."

"Malina, we cannot talk here - "

"Then where?" the woman exclaimed in a whisper. Her controlled speech had slipped away in her agitation, and now Alanna could hear traces of a usually well-hidden South African accent seeping through her words. "If not in your own house, then where? I'm telling you, Rabastan - now that the game has begun, there are spies everywhere. We cannot talk in our meeting places anymore, no. Restaurants, lodging houses - all these places can be compromised."

_Restaurants? Lodging houses?_ Alanna's temper flared white-hot. She gripped the gold handle of the bathroom door and rested her entire weight on it, feeling the wooden door creak under the burden, but she could not move an inch. She knew that rushing out and demanding an explanation from Rabastan once and for all would do no good. Only from staying out of sight and listening closely would she ever find out anything.

Back in the dining room, Rabastan scoffed. "Rosier's reach is so limited, and we are so careful, that I cannot imagine how he would ever manage to compromise us."

Malina cast a glance at the darker corners of the empty room, and then at the doorways. Nothing of her regal mannerisms were diminished - only her overly alert, darting eyes betrayed her anxiety. Leaning forward, she murmured to Rabastan, "I think he has ordered someone to follow me."

Rabastan went very still, but his upper lip curled in disbelief. "Here?"

Malina shook her head. "I took all precautions," she said quietly, her words short and clipped. "Rosier is a dangerous opponent, whether you believe it or not. He is not clever, but he has many loyal friends and allies who are."

Rabastan frowned, the first signs of true worry drawing lines around his eyes and mouth. "But there is nothing he and his friends can do - I have the winning proposition. You said so yourself."

"That is not important right now, Rabastan. You _must_ put _all_ of your assets into play immediately, because you do not know what the other side is doing."

Malina rose slightly out of her seat and reached across the table towards him. Rab caught her hand and, before she could speak, pressed her fingers gently to his lips. He smiled at her and rose completely to his feet, taking her by the hand and drawing her out of her chair and very close to him. Her lips went instinctively to his collarbone; his to her hairline. The time they spent together had, over the years, worn away their edges until they fitted together automatically, comfortably, like puzzle pieces. A woman and a man ice cold like marble, but warmth sparked wherever they would touch.

"Hold nothing back," Malina whispered urgently into Rabastan's collar. "You must believe me - I have seen what can come of these competitions which our Lord finds so amusing. Don't make me fear for you, Rabastan."

He only kissed her in reply.

Alanna pressed her forehead savagely against the cold grooved frieze that marched around the door to the bathroom and stared at the floor, counting the patterns of black and green tiles to sooth herself. The shells of her ears flamed and the tips of her fingers were still damp and freezing from the sink. Her mind raced. Games and propositions and lords and roses - Alanna could make sense of nothing that they said.

"I came to _warn_ you, Rabastan. You are one of my greatest friends," Malina breathed, her voice trembling. "I could not bear to see them mar you like they did my husband."

At these words, the corners of Rabastan's eyes creased in compassion and he traced her smooth left shoulder blade gently with the pads of his fingers, down the same path where two rope-like scars disfigured the back of her husband Gabon Zabini. "Well, he survived," Rab replied softly. "And he is no less the man for it."

Malina buried her face in Rabastan's shirt and sighed. "He is in favor again, but for how long, I don't know. As it stands, our Lord is now in need of the services that he offers, but he cannot learn to keep his tongue in check. He never listens to me." She frowned up at Rabastan. "Do not make that mistake. Do not discredit my advice simply because I am a woman. Women see and hear things that men disregard, and we go unnoticed where men cannot."

"But Rosier has taken notice of you," Rabastan remarked darkly, his eyebrows raised in a half-question.

"Not like that," Malina said firmly, her brown eyes glowering. Rab released a subtle sigh of relief. "That imbecile? I'd never allow it. He just has one of his following me."

She placed gentle kisses on Rabastan's cheeks before withdrawing from his embrace. He tried to pull her back, but she shook her head and stepped away. They both returned to their seats.

"Not while she is in the other room," Malina murmured. "I am a proper woman and a woman of honor."

A smirk spread across Rabastan's face. "As I'm well aware," he said dryly. "Believe me, I had no twisted intentions for tonight. I invited you here for supper for one reason and one reason only."

"And what was that? To subdue a mouse?" Malina retorted, her eyebrows raised. She cast a pointed glance towards the door through which Alanna had exited the dining room minutes ago. The pitiable girl was probably perched on the porcelain lid of the toilet as they spoke, crying her eyes out because she assumed the worst. "Rabastan, you have my loyalty and my heart for as long as I live, but of this I do not approve," she said sternly. "I do hope this is not one of your little games, to manipulate hearts and minds for your entertainment."

Rabastan opened his mouth to reply, but the sound of footfalls on the floorboards of the hallway separating the dining room from the bathroom silenced him at once. His eyes begged for Malina to keep quiet, and the woman nodded her acquiescence.

When Alanna returned to her seat, both he and Malina were eating peacefully, their faces blank. She smiled at one, and then the other. The meal continued without a word.


End file.
